I don't know why they call it Cedar City. I don't think any cedar trees live there.
Somehow, I'm taking a four-hour drive there, to be with him. To watch his fluid, confident gestures, to see the relief flood his face after he takes his seat and becomes himself once more. To be a comfort, to be honest, to help him, to be with him.
That's all I want, really.
Just to be with him.