It feels like forever

Dear Burk,
Today is Saturday.  It's only been 2 days since you were hit.  It feels like weeks.  It's amazing how draining something like this can be.  For everyone.  Emotionally, mentally, physically.
The timeline of events is a little jumbled in my head.  And I'm too tired to try and sort it out.  So I'll do my best to recount what has happened.  I imagine one day you'll be curious about it.
I didn't make it back to the hospital Thursday.  Carter had to get his cast off and I had to try and function as a mom to 3 little kids without ever going to bed.
Mom, Dad, Kelli, and Chad covered the "vigil".  If I remember right, the day was fairly uneventful.  If you can even use the word "uneventful" in a situation like this.
Your head pressure was about the same.  Surgery on your other broken bones would possibly take place over the weekend.  They want to do your shoulder/arm surgery and ankle surgery at the same time so you only have to endure the trauma of surgery one more time instead of two.
Uncle Craig and Todd came to visit.  Later that night, your friend Jason came.  He was pretty emotional.
We started receiving more phone calls, text, and e-mails as word spread of your accident.  It's amazing how quickly something like that spreads.   Alot of people are concerned for your well being.  Whatever that may be at this time.  Such a crazy situation.
Kelli was able to track down the man who hit you.  She gave her phone number to the police and asked him to call her.  It was brave of him to actually call.  We were grateful to hear he was okay.  Though his car was not.  He was very shaken and greatly affected, as would be expected.  It wasn't his fault.  He was obeying all laws.  It was dark.  He didn't see you until right before contact.  He tried to brake.  It was too late.  Immediately after initially seeing you and while waiting during your surgery, our thoughts went to the driver of the car.  We felt horrible for them.  And hoped that with time, they'd be able to emotionally recover from something so traumatic.  He apologized.  And was very upset.  It was merciful he didn't get hurt as well.
The rest of us who weren't at the hospital were in constant contact by phone and text throughout the day checking on your situation.
No change.
Dad seems hopeful, but subdued.  When he's at the hospital he's in "doctor mode" as I call it.  He watches the screens, checks your charts, lifts your eyelids, and occasionally tries to communicate with you.  He's a good doctor as you know.  He helps us sort out all the information for what it really means.
Mom seems worried, motherly, and just plain exhausted.  She's definitely using this to her advantage to hold your hand and be a mom.  Something you might shy away from if you were alert.
It's hard to watch them watch you.  No parent should have to see their child in that kind of condition.  Ever.
Life sure can be mean.  You, more than anyone, knows that to be true.
Hang in there.