They had a heater blowing on his feet to get him to warm back up. His eyes were swollen. There were bandages on his neck and abdomen.

A ventilator kept him breathing, and the machines next to his bed kept track of his progress.

Every time I spoke to the nurse in the room, he’d hear my voice. His eyes would pop open and he’d try to look for me. But then he’d realize he was in an unfamiliar setting and begin to panic.

I realized then his arms were strapped down to keep him from fighting the machines that were keeping him alive. He popped his breathing tube out one time trying to find me.

I couldn’t watch. I wanted him to just focus on healing. I felt like I was causing more harm than good. I wonder now if he thought I was abandoning him.

I was assured he was doing better. So I left the nurses to their job.

Bob and I needed showers, and by this time his father got to the hospital. Thinking that Corey was going to make it, we left. Bob also had to go get Josh, so this was when he started on the 6 hour journey.

A short while later, I returned to the hospital. As I went in to the room, I stopped by his nurse (Jeff) and asked how my boy was doing. It was then that he told me there was some “neurological changes” that he had to have checked out. He wouldn’t get any more specific.

At 3:55pm, his doctor came to the waiting room and asked me, Justin and his father to join him in the consultation room. We were told that Corey had a stroke. He was brain dead.

I crumpled onto the floor and began to cry. “No. No! No! I can’t do this. I CAN’T do this!”

Yet somehow, here I am.
Still doing this.

Still fighting to find the person that did this to my son.

Remembering the sound of the machines that kept him alive long enough to donate his organs. Wishing that I could have calmed him down one of those times he was searching for me.

And here I will be until justice is served.
And beyond that I will remain.
Steadfast.
Holding those I love closely to my heart.