Yesterday when I visited Micah he was in his screaming stage. I sat with him and let him scream waiting to see if he would transition to one of his catatonic stages so that I could speak. When I was tired of waiting I leaned in close to his ear and I asked him.
"Micah, what did you see?"
His screaming slowly morphed into an insane, uncontrollable laughter I'd never heard before. His doctor, who'd been just outside, came running into the room.
"What did you do?" He asked, alarmed.
"I just asked him a question." I responded, quietly.
"What was the question?"
"I asked him what he saw."
We both noticed the sudden silence at the same time. We slowly turned toward Micah to find him facing us, no expression on his face.
"It's all waiting for you. It's waiting for all of us." Then his mouth fell open into a large O and the laughter slowly began again followed by shrill, horrible screams.
I left the hospital that day wishing I had never come at all, wishing I'm never met Micah. I drove home with tears pouring down my cheeks. What did they see? What's on the other side? Do I even want to know? But it really doesn't matter anymore. Someday I'll find out. And so will you.
