You never really plan for "after", at least I never did.  I still don't.  I didn't have a plan for how I would exist after my beautiful son was taken away so abruptly.  The hospital called us a cab (reminding us several times they don't normally do so) to take us home after spending the night on our knees at Cullen's bedside.  I vividly remember that the cab driver had his lunch on the seat next to him in a brown paper bag along with a thermos of coffee. 

The golden yellow light of a Phoenix sunrise was filling the landscape with detail that was similiar to the day before for the man driving this yellow cab, but would be for ever different for his broken passengers.  How did all the people in all of these cars have the gall to continue with their lives as if this was just another day?  Our son was gone.  I want to be where he is.  I need to be wherever he is.  He needs me.  The driver put the cab into drive and the digital red seconds started ticking away. 

"How are you two doing today?"