Gut Wrenching

Five years ago he joyously visited the maternity ward; now it is the oncology floor. Kindergarten will not be in the cards this year - just lots of tears. She has the same bald head she bore when he coached his wife through the Lamaze breathing they both had trained for; the ponytails she beautifully wore in between her hospital stays are long forgotten. Cancer made her a motherless child two years ago; now it promises to re-unite mother and daughter. He tries to keep up a brave front – but fails miserably. It is hard to believe in the Saints for which hospitals are named when these are the same buildings in which loved ones are taken from us far too soon. Unfortunately, he recognizes many of the nurses who cared for his wife. “Hello, Daddy”, she smiles weakly as he enters her room; “I am going to see Mommy soon, aren’t I”, she asks. The lump in his throat prevents an answer. “It’s okay, Daddy”, the sick child reassures her grieving father. He cannot hold back the tears he promised not to show her. “Now, instead of us missing Mommy, Mommy and I will be missing you. And you can pray to both of us before going to bed, like we do now to Mommy.” “Tell her I still love her,” he manages to say through his tears. “She knows, Daddy.” “And …” “I know, Daddy.” She closes her eyes. He has to walk past the Maternity Ward on his way out of the hospital to the funeral parlor. Written and posted on August 25, 2011 by Knot Telling