A/N: So, there I was working on a story, when this popped into my head, demanding to be written. Stinkin' plot bunnies!

March 18, 2029

My Dearest Friend,

I can not tell you how much your prayers and good wishes have meant to me in this sad time. I hold your letters to my heart as a tremendous comfort.

It is comfort that I sorely need these hard days. I must tell you my dear grandson is not much improved since my last letter and it is a weight on the hearts of all who live here. I know you meant it as a kindness when you suggested that he be moved to an institute, but I am afraid neither his father nor his brothers would allow it. For myself, I don't know what would be better. The only consideration, in my mind, as in is his well-being. But how could we be assured of that if he were sent away? At least here, we know he is cared for and loved.

I know you want to know more about the accident, but honestly, there is not much more to tell. He fell while on an outing with his brothers and hit his head. As you can imagine, Scott has been particularly distraught, though he tries to hide it. Everytime he looks at his brother, you can see the pain in his eyes. He has protected and guarded all of the boys since they were children, and it makes no difference to him that no one blames him, or that he was in no position to stop the fall, he blames himself. It breaks my heart to see him torn so.

Jeff has once again risen to the challenge of dealing with this whole situation. Just like before, he has maintained a positive outlook, although I can see how much it costs him. As you know, he didn't handle Lucille's death all that well, and I suspect he would be devastated should Gordon die. But in this situation, with a grave injury, he is the light that keeps the family moving on.

Yes, Alan is devastated. It is very sad to see him drawing away from his brother. They have always been such great friends. But I fear seeing Gordon so… diminished… is like a knife in that young man's heart. He refuses to see his brother, and has become increasingly sullen and argumentative. My heart tells me that it is the pain, but it is difficult to stand by as he pushes everyone, including Tin-Tin, away.

Virgil and John are being good little soldiers, trying not to add any additional burdens to the family. John stays with Gordon whenever he can, just to make sure that he is all right. He has forgone his work on his latest book to just sit and talk with him. Whenever they are in the lounge, Virgil shows up and plays the piano. I think I've mentioned that Gordon has always had an appreciation for Debussy, and the soft jazz that Virgil is so adept at.

As for Gordon himself, he hardly seems aware of where he is at times. There are occasional moments of lucidity, when the light seems to come to his eyes, but it lasts for so short a time that I have come to distrust it. For the most part, he is able to feed himself, and keep himself clean. I'd say his mentality is about that of a four-year-old, but without the spark, the curiosity.

Jeff continues to search for doctors who can do something, anything for him, but so far everyone of them has been totally useless. They come, they cluck, they shake their heads, and the go away after charging my son outrageous fees. Most say he'll never improve, some say it's a crapshoot. I'd like to strangle them all, but Jeff is ever hopeful. Another one of these so-called specialists will be here tomorrow. I intend to stay in my room until he is gone.

Oh, Tina, how I long to leave this sad place and visit you, if only for a few days. I know that sounds traitorous, but the atmosphere is so heavy, and I know I would handle it better with a small break. Perhaps I can fly up in a few weeks. In the meantime, please, please, please, keep my dear boy in your prayers.

Love,

Ruth