Where You Belong

117

Loneliness overwhelmed her as she lay in the small hospital bed and cried. Her mother had told her time and again that crying was a sign of weakness and she desperately didn't want to be weak. She didn't want to cry. But her throat hurt so much she couldn't talk; each inhale and exhale was excruciating. She was tired and felt sick. And she was alone.

The little girl in the bed next to hers was sucking on a popsicle that her parents had gotten for her. It was her third that day. Meredith had counted. They were separated by a thin hanging sheet, but it wasn't pulled back all the way, so Meredith had been able to watch as the little girl's parents – both a mom and a dad – sat and talked and played with her since she had woken up. They brought her toys and games and gifts. And a stuffed animal.

Meredith like stuffed animals, but her mother didn't, so she didn't have any anymore. One day, when Meredith was younger, her mother had told Meredith it was time she stopped being a baby. She'd thrown all of Meredith's baby toys away. Meredith had watched as the garbage bag had been filled with her stuffed animals, her dolls and her favourite things. Determined to prove she wasn't a baby to make her mother happy, she hadn't fought it. And when she cried herself to sleep that night, she hadn't told her mother. She didn't want her mother to see how weak she was.

She didn't want to be weak now, but she was failing at being strong. Her throat hurt so much and she felt so hot. She wished she had a popsicle like the girl next to her, but she hadn't seen her mother for hours, and even then it had only been for a moment. And it hurt too much to call out to one of the nurses or even the parents of the girl next to her.

Meredith sniffed and tried to stop crying, but her failure only made her cry more. She wanted to be strong like her mother wanted her to be. But she was weak. Weak and ordinary.

There were people in the hospital who were really, really sick. She knew this because her mother saved them every day. It was why she wasn't home very much. It was a very important job. Her mother made sure she knew that. She told her all the time. And Meredith understood. She understood that it was more important that her mother save other people than be at home with Meredith. And she knew that even though she was in the hospital now, she wasn't the same as the people her mother saved. She wasn't sure exactly what was wrong with her, but she knew she wasn't very sick. And she knew she had to be strong so her mother could help those who were.

Meredith had had sore throats a lot. That was why she was here now. A doctor – not her mother because her mother saved more important people – had done something to the back of her throat so that it wouldn't happen anymore. Meredith had wanted to know more, but her mother's name had been called on the hospital intercom when they had walked into the hospital that morning. Her mother had huffed in that way that reminded Meredith how important her job was and took Meredith to the desk that the nurses sat at. She said something to one of the nurses and then left without another word. She had promised before that she would explain to Meredith what was going to happen, but she never did.

Meredith had watched her go, but hadn't cried. She didn't cry when she realized her mother hadn't told her what was going on or even that it would be okay. She didn't cry when the nurse hurried her to a part of the hospital Meredith had never been to and left her with another nurse. She hadn't cried when the new nurse had made her change into a gown and then get into one of the beds on wheels Meredith had seen many times. She hadn't cried when she had been wheeled into a bright room and surrounded by doctors and nurses. She hadn't cried when they'd placed something over her nose and mouth and asked her to count to ten.

She hadn't cried. She'd been strong. And she really wanted her mother to have seen how strong she had been. She wanted her mother to come and see her and praise her for being strong.