They put him in an oxygen tent today, and told me I can only sit with him for a few minutes at a time or I'll pass out b/c the oxygen's too pure. I can feel it after a bit, making me lightheaded and dizzy, making it hard to keep my grip on him. Makes it harder to talk, too, but that doesn't matter much anymore when I've said everything there is to say over and over until my voice is gone. They told me ten minutes in, ten minutes out, but I managed almost fifteen last time. I think I'm getting used to it and can maybe go longer, and in between I can at least still play for him some, and when I can't mama can. So he knows someone's still here. I hope he knows, anyway. I hope he doesn't think he's alone.
He's not getting any better. It's not just that he's not getting better, he's getting worse. Every day he's a little farther gone, his breathing's a bit shallower, his heart's a bit slower and he looks more dead, decay eating away at skin and muscle and bone. And I can see it. See him dying by degrees. And there's not a fucking thing I can do. All the words in the world can't make him wake up, all the wanting and hoping and begging and fucking praying won't make a damned bit of difference if he can't do it himself.
I haven't asked god for shit since he did this to me. If he even exists he's a sadistic fuck with a sick sense of humor, but Johs's mama believes. She had her church in to pray for him yesterday. Introduced me round to everyone as his partner when they showed up, and it felt like a lie, that she doesn't know how fucked up everything's been. Doesn't matter now, though, all that matters is Josh getting better, and I guess she thinks the praying will help. I shook hands round and she must have warned them all in advance about my powers, because they were polite and kind but almost painfully careful. I don't think any of them expect him to live, and I wanted to yell at them. To tell them to get the fuck out if they don't have any faith in him, but it's important to his mama and I can't make things harder for her than they already are.
They took me out for an MRI and my first round of physical therapy while they did their praying, thank fuck. If I'd had to listen to anyone pray for his immortal soul or some crap like that I might have hurt them. The therapist tried to convince me to take the damned pain meds again, but fuck that. I can't think on those, forget staying awake, and it doesn't matter how much it hurts. By the time they got me back they'd finished their praying and just spent the rest of the day talking. Mostly stories about Josh when he was little. Some of them sounded like they were at a wake, and they kept looking at me, all pitying. I just held onto him and let it slide, and at least no one told me how sorry they were for my loss or any shit like that. I love his mama and I don't want to hurt her, but I couldn't have taken that.
I never thought I'd wish for Julian to be around, but I think I'd trade the disaster that's my left leg if it would get him here. Maybe Josh would hear him. Maybe it would help. I don't care what brings him back, or what he wants once he's all healed up, I just want him alive and well and happy. Anything's worth that.