Yesterday I met Albert, a heavy set black gentleman whose son had just passed away in Cincinnati, Ohio five hours prior. He told me he spent two solid hours crying and now he just needed to talk.

Then I met Joy, a lady with the most beautiful blue eyes who is now mostly unintelligible when she attempts to speak. We didn't need words, she mostly just needed a hug and some affection. Gently peeling her gripped hands off of mine was challenging...and a little gut wrenching.

And that was just on my way back to my Dad's room from the bathroom.

Every day there are persons in these halls, some in their full mental capacities, some whose shell of a body is the only thing left, and persons crying out for their loved ones, or yelling at us for no reason other than we were the unlucky recipients of their current tirade. There are days we don't know whether to laugh or cry, so some days we do both.

This place is mentally draining. It's difficult to weigh the necessity and benefit of being here against all the dread and looming death. If there are right answers, my heart struggles greatly to know what exactly they are.

But enough of that. I gotta go see my Dad now, and hopefully I don't get stopped in the halls.