Mason is nine. He was hit by a car walking home from school on Thursday. Two surgeries. A machine breathing for him. His mom and I hadn’t slept in four days.

I stepped out to call her parents and nearly tripped over a man in a leather vest. Then I saw the rest of them. They filled the whole hallway. Some had their heads down. One woman with gray braids was holding a little stuffed dog against her chest and rocking.