This was our life for two months. Easter came and went; we didn’t even notice. Greg called, and some of our Bible study friends—I’d canceled it without explanation via e-mail after we got the diagnosis—and Zoe called once or twice, but the calls went straight to voice mail, and Jack deleted them instantly. I was beginning to feel like a prisoner. Jack made no attempt to seize what time he had left, and I felt as if Bree and I were being sucked down into the black hole he was creating. I was going stir-crazy; I needed adult conversation about something other than alternative medicine’s latest offering for HIV treatment. Every day while Bree napped I pleaded with God, physically fell to my knees in our bedroom and sobbed into the comforter for Him to reach down and fix this mess. I wanted my husband back. I wanted my life back.

One morning in June I completely lost it. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and the house was a disaster: random items strewn everywhere, dishes in the sink, baby toys on the floor, in the hall, in the bedroom … I hadn’t cleaned in ages, and it was obvious. I’d canceled the housecleaning service, in no mood to have them there, and never rescheduled. And housekeeping had never been my strong suit. I tried to clean, but Bree kept getting in the way, and I could feel myself getting to the point where the next words out of my mouth to her would be in a voice I’d sworn never to use with my children, so I deposited her in her crib for an early nap and retreated to my room.

I slumped beside the bed, tears running down my cheeks as I tried to muster the energy to pray. I just couldn’t do it. I felt like I’d been awake for a year, like my very soul had been drained from me. Bree was crying, but I couldn’t get myself up off the floor to go to her.

“How could this be in Your plan?” The words were out of my mouth before I realized I was speaking out loud. “Why are You doing this to us?”

Nothing.

“I can’t do this anymore. I feel like I’m losing my mind!” My voice was rising. “How can You just stand there and watch? Why don’t You do something?”

I didn’t think I had any more gut-wrenching sobs left in me, but they rose again out of the pit of my stomach, and with them a fury I’d never experienced. “Do something.” I screamed, throwing a pillow from the bed and not even flinching when a lamp hit the floor. “Why don’t You do something?”