Still in the Hospital Room

My father had been in the ICU for eleven days after a stroke. The doctors were not hopeful. I had driven from Memphis to Nashville and was sitting in the chair by his bed at midnight, too exhausted to pray in any coherent way. I remember just saying out loud, "I can't do this alone." The room did not change. Nothing moved. But something settled — a warmth that was not the temperature of the room, a stillness that was not emptiness. I sat with it for two hours. My father woke up the next morning and recognized me by name. He is home now.