He is holding his organs. Intestines spill out of his arms onto the dirty floor. I am hit with a freezing shock—Thaddeus, Thaddeus, my brother, my brother holding his guts, an armful of his organs, God, he’s dead—and I turn away violently. I will myself not to throw up. Pray. Pray again. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?
