Imagine with me a pile of disgusting-looking fur mostly covered by trash. A young lady walking by sees beyond the outside. She scoops up this pile of fur and sees the lovable pup inside.

The next four days are focused completely on that pup. She attends to him with everything she has. Love, compassion, kindness, empathy, mixed with her wisdom and medical understanding. She knows when to encourage movement and rest. Through it all, that pup survives and finds his way back to his family.

The rest of the story:

That pup, my 43-year-old alcoholic son, is living a lie that all is well on his own. He hit the bottom. The police found him with hallucinations and tremors and called me. This was life-threatening, and he told me to get him to the ER now. Living in years of trash in his house, he may have had water out for a year. Matted long hair, fingernails black, feet that stunk to make one gag.

The young girl is the nurse who devoted herself to caring for this lost soul. The nurse put all of her training to work. She brought peace into the room with her. He hates needles and meds. She was able to calm him in a way I had never seen before. I sat with him all day for four days. His nurse was there offering information, compassion, and respect. She removed his socks and washed them by hand. No one else offered.

Without her and all the doctors and nurses, we may have lost our son. The alcohol has caused some brain damage, which affects his balance. It has left him in a huge financial debt. We are working on both. With all our gratitude.