The Visit

Artemis' eyes were open today. Her fever has broken, her color looks good, and her arms aren't as contracted. I was hoping this meant the coma was almost over, but a little internet research just now showed me otherwise. She doesn't respond to stimuli, that's the thing. Maybe she can hear us and see us--she does seem to look at us while we're talking--but no one knows where she is in there.

Her parents were there this time, and her brother, which made it hard. You can see how hard it is for them. They are so sad, so devastated. Her father has always been cheerful and well-groomed. His eyes are so sad and foggy and stubble has overgrown his chin and jaw. Her mother was sorrowful, eyes downcast, the corners of her mouth turned down, unable to lift. Her brother acted cheerful, the strong one, but I could see the tears right behind his eyes, if you know what I mean.

Even in a coma, Artemis is beautiful. She has these haunting eyes, a little brown, a little gold, a tiny bit green. They fluttered open and shut, and she yawned a lot. I can imagine this whole ordeal has been exhausting for her. It is too much for these good people to bear. Too much sorrow.