A Girls's Life

Hospital

My heart was pounding in my chest, threatening to leap out at any moment. It was cold in the waiting room, probablly like all of the other hospital rooms. My sister and I sat there alone, both completely vulnerable to what was going on. We watched absently as doctors in scrubs passed by, and hurried off to unknown destinations, where help was needed. Where there were probablly other lonely siblings, waiting to hear if their Dad was ok, just like us.

 All of this had been washed upon us, like a flood. A flood we weren't prepared for, full of loneliness, despair, drama, and confusion. We were both too young at the time to completely understand what was going on. We should have never been exposed to it.

 The door to my right flung open, and snapped me out of my thoughts. Then my Mom stepped out, slowly, her movements filled with anguish. She said it was ok for us to come inside now. My sister and I looked at eachother, not needing words to explain how we felt. We followed her cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

 As we entered the room, I saw my Grandma. Her eyes were full of pain, and I looked away unable to bear anymore of it. She glanced at my Mom and I sympathetically. But under all that sympathy, the feeling she claimed to have for us, was hatred. She despised my Mom. She somehow blamed my Mom for the divorce, and blamed her for my Dad getting sick. But of that, I knew nothing. My sister and I were too young, too clueless to be aware of what was really going on.

 When my sister saw our Dad sprawled out on the hospital bed, she stopped. She retreated to my Mom, and began to sob into her sleeve. A pang of sympathy pierced my heart. She was young, younger than I, and should no way have ever experienced something like that. But I...'I am strong,' I told myself. I approached his bedside, and looked over the picture before me.

 He was in hospital scrubs, and had a tube coming out of his arm, but other than that, he looked normal. He wore that same, bright smile, despite his condition. He definitely looked better than when he first arrived here. In fact...he looked happy. A sliver of hope rushed through my body. Maybe everything was going to be ok.

 He held out his hand for me to take, and I did so. Then, finally mustering up the courage, I asked,"Daddy...are you going to die?"

 His smile faded and he avoided my gaze. He glanced at my Grandma, his mom, as if silently asking how to reply. My heart stopped, as I waited in aticipation for his answer.

 Finally, he looked at me. Our eyes met, now unable to drift apart from eachother. "No, mija..." he squeezed my hand tightly, "...Not yet."

 Then we left the hospital, and my Mom drove us back to her house. I didn't sleep that night. I was unable to define what his words meant. "...Not yet..." I may  not have understood what he meant at the time...But I would understand soon enough.