I Will Praise You in the Storm

The appointment was largely for my benefit. I took time off work to meet with this Dr. Kelly fellow. I arrived at his office with my wife. The stranger was alone, but armed and dangerous; he used no blanks and took no prisoners. As Bonnie and I stepped into his office, I was unaware of the danger. I then stood toe to toe with the stranger. After a brisk handshake and some chat, the stranger’s eyes grew stern and direct.

His guns came out firing, two short blasts of words that found their mark. When the smoke cleared the room, it was over. The ambush was a shot of reality I needed to hear. It stunned me to my core, these words I never forgot. Referring to Stephen, our son, his words rang loud and clear: “There is no hope or cure. Take him out and have a good time.” I do not remember our conversation after those sobering words, and I left his office a broken man. The outward signs of wounds were not present, but inside the wounds reached all the way to the bone. I needed time to think. You see, I was a problem solver. But this problem was beyond my pay grade.

I remember leaving Dr. Kelly's office stunned and dazed. Dr. Kelly was a strange bird, to say the least. He had this unusual way of referring to himself. During our visit to his office, he kept saying, “Dr. Kelly says this” and “Dr. Kelly wants you to do that.” When my wife and I left the office, my mind was stuck on that. I asked her, “I thought we were going to see Dr. Kelly?” She answered. “That was Dr. Kelly!”

Bonnie and I walked slowly from his office to our car in the parking lot. Any other events of the day seemed petty in comparison. The world was moving forward, and I was stuck in neutral. My mind was trying to grasp Dr. Kelly's last remarks. It was devastating, like a priest giving the last rites. No matter how you added it up, it was a death sentence for our two-year-old son.