The beginning

Dear Burk,
Shane and I think you might be robocop. By all accounts you should have died. But you didn't.
Wednesday night I climbed in bed. I was tired but couldn't sleep. I was having a mild anxiety attack. Unusual for me. I didn't know why. An hour later the phone rang. Not good.
Two female police officers went to mom and dad's house. "your son Burk has been in an accident. He was hit by a car. He has head trauma and has been life flighted to the hospital. That's all we can tell you."
I called Kelli. She was already on her way and was the first to get to the hospital. I'm sure you won't be surprised by that.
I was waiting to hear how bad it was before I came. This wasn't the first time you've been life flighted so we weren't sure how severe.  It also wasn't your first (or second, or third, or fourth....) time in the ICU.
Kelli called an hour later. "It's bad. You might want to come."
On my way.
When I walked into your room in the ICU I'll admit it was shocking. You actually looked quite peaceful. But swollen. And the tubes. I couldn't even count the amount of tubes. They were everywhere. You were in a medically induced coma with brain swelling.
You got hit on the left side. At least that's what I presume. Your left leg was shattered. Your left arm was broken. Your right ankle is also broken. You broke your skull in 3 places and there is swelling in your head.
You surprisingly have no facial wounds. You have road rash on your left shoulder and some on your back.
You are critical and not stable. They need to operate immediately on your shattered leg so bone fragments won't move (I think that was why).
Dad gave you a blessing. Kelli and I cracked jokes so we could laugh instead of cry ( cause that's what our family does as you know).
They wheeled you off to surgery. We weren't sure if you'd make it through. They were worried the swelling in your brain would increase.  I actually didn't really consider you not surviving.  That's what you do.  You survive.
It was supposed to take 90 minutes. It took us an hour, several different buildings, lots of elevators, and too many hot stairwells to count to finally get to the right waiting room. Kinda ridiculous but at least it kept us distracted. The waiting room was deserted.  After 3 hours had passed the anxiety went up a bit. It was now 4am. Kelli turned her charm on and somehow talked a security guard into going into the OR to find out what was going on. He said you wouldn't be out until 6 am. That was 3 hours longer than it was supposed to take. We were worried they had to crack your skull open because the pressure in your head was too high.
Finally the doc came out. "That was hard"  The plan was to put a rod in your leg but the doctor couldn't get it straightened enough to do it.  He said he's only done one other surgery that hard.  He had to piece the bones back together with plates and screws.  Not ideal.  You won't be able to bare weight on that leg for "at least 10 weeks".
The pressure in your head stayed "manageable".
We made our way back up to the shock trauma ICU to see you after surgery.  We talk to you for a minute.  I'm pretty sure you couldn't hear us.  But you never know.
We walk out the hospital doors around 6am to a beautiful sun rising over the very life flight helicopter that had flown your mangled body to the hospital.  We are exhausted.  The next few days are going to be rough.  For you.  For mom and dad.  For all of us.  Now we wait, and watch.