I am scared out of my mind.  Nothing in the world ever prepared me for the fear I am experiencing.

I spent part of today with Josie, Susan's eight-year-old daughter, and we had a really nice time.  I took her to the Discovery Center and we build a flower, and she had a lot of fun.  We went to Noodles and shared two dinners:  Alfredo with spinach and chicken, and oh hell, what is that called?  Noodles, beef, mushrooms, sour cream sauce?

We had our fun, I took her home, she curled up with her mother on the couch, and I ached at having spent a day with Josie that should have been Susan's to spend with her.

The decline I have seen in Susan has been utterly horrifying. Considering that only a week ago tomorrow she decided to see a doctor, and now she does little other than sleep and can take in only a quarter of a serving of

Stoganoff -- that's what it was.

Ensure.

I WANT to be strong, and I pray in every single moment that Susan will be a SURVIVOR, but I'm scared beyond what I've ever imagined to be scared.

Dear God, take me instead.  My son's grown.