Chosen Sadness

Of Life and Death

My fingers close around her hand, her own fingers so small and pale and cold. Her dark hair is spread out on her pillow, a dark halo against the stark white surroundings, and to me, she had never looked more like an angel.

"Daddy?"

My eyes fix on her face. Two green eyes stare up at me expectantly, their dull sheen sending a spike of sadness through my heart. My insides grow numb, muted, my heart heavy as I think of the lively girl she once had been; as I think of the girl who stole my heart the moment I laid eyes upon her. As I think of me, sitting in this same position with another girl whom I had loved just as much. Forcing a smile on my face, I reach up, running my hand down her cheek. The skin is smooth, soft. Then why is it so cold?

"It's going to be okay." I barely recognize my voice. It's low, hoarse, too rough compared to the melody that is hers. "You're going to be fine. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." It's a lie. My entire being wishes it weren't, my every bone crying out, so loud and so hard that I think I might break. But no matter how much I beg or plea; no matter how much I cry, nothing will ever change.

Her smile fades. The sadness in her eyes grows, a deep loneliness in that sea of green. "Daddy, I want to see mommy..."

That's all it takes.

The tears that I had been holding back for so long spill forth. First one tear, then another, slowly, then all at once, but never once does my gaze leave hers. That beautiful, beautiful face. I never want to stop seeing it, I don't want it to go. My grip tightens on hers. These fingers, these cold, pale fingers, that I never want to leave mine.

"You'll be with mommy soon," I say. Sadness begs to slip itself into my words, agony crying to be released from my body, and yet I force it back. Happiness should be the last thing she remembers. But happiness seems like a far off dream. She's my happiness, she's my only happiness. She can't... she can't...

Before I know what I'm doing, I reach forward, pulling her into my arms, resting her tiny head in the crook of my shoulder. After a moment, her arms reach up, hugging me back. Her silky hair is pressed up against my face, the sickly smell of illness filling my nose, but I don't move. I sit there, holding her to me, crying softly, thanking god that she wouldn't see my tears.

"Daddy... I love you..."

And then her arms go limp.