Don't let go

Late night hospital visit

She was shivering, her face crimson and puffy.

"Mom?! Say something!" I commanded.

"It's your grandpa. He-he's in the hospital. We need to go. Now!"

I slipped on a pair of jeans, and a vivid button up coat. I didn't care what I looked like, it was too urgent.

My mother drove eighty in a fifty mile per hour zone. My head spun. I had so many questions, and no resolved answers.

"What happened? Does Peter know? Is he going to be okay??"

Her voice was wracked with nervousness. Grandpa was the only person who ever watched out for her, the only person who was there for her when dad left. Now he's hurt, it was time for us to be there for him.

My mother ran into the hospital with her high heel boots stabbing the pavement, I was following.

A doctor in a white coat lurched in front of us. Bags under his eyes indicated he was working the night shift.

"Are you Mrs.Foster?"

"Yes, I'm Jeremy Allen's daughter. How is he?!"

"He was hit head on by what we think was a drunk driver. He is currently in a coma with severe head trauma. He already had the surgery."

My mother gasped for a breath. Her eyes were bloodshot in attempt to crack back her heavy tears.

"Is there anyway he will come out of the coma?"

"The chance is..slight.."

My mother's throat broke, as well as her fragile heart.

"Please! You have to save him!" She jerked lightly on the doctor's coat.

He gently pulled her hand down to level.

"We will do everything we can, Mrs.Foster."

"Can I see him!??" My mother pleaded.

"We are still running tests, we will let you know if there are any changes."

He scratched the hairs on the back of his neck and strutted down the hall.

My moms knees fell weak, slamming them against the hard ground. Her fingers were gripping onto her head.

"Mom!"

I panicked and squatted by her. The squinty faced nurses stared consciously.

"He's dying! He's dying!" She caught her breath and wept.

A hand pressed itself against my mom's shoulder abruptly.

It was Peter.

"Mom? What's going on?"

Together Peter and I managed to get her into the deserted waiting room.

We sat close to her, one of her children on each side. Her eyes were dabbed dry with tissues, black makeup smears soon disappeared off her face.

When my mother temporarily stopped crying, she explained to Peter what was going on. I gazed up at the clock on the wall, it was 10:13.

Peter fell asleep in the chair three hours later, his head accidentally on my shoulder. I hunkered myself in the chair, allowing him to sleep for as long as possible.

The doctor arrived in the waiting room, my mother rose to her feet. I harshly shoved Peter's shoulder, awakening him.

"How is he? Has there been any change?" She asked in dismay.

"No. But we have him stabilized. One can go see him."

Without hesitation my mother walked with the doctor down the sterile hall way.

I poured myself a sickening cup of black coffee into a paper cup. Peter had a decaf with cream and sugar.

"I never asked you how your date went." I suggest an alternative verse of conversation.

"It went great." He sipped the cup.

"Like great as ok or like great as in awesome?"

He grinned, "great as in awesome."

"Awesome. Now who is she?" I say even though the topic is none of my business.

"Why do you have to be so nosy?"

"It's a trait I received from my-." I stopped myself. My dad.

Fortunately my mother broke in before I finished.

Every muscle was spasming on her body. Wet tears dripped off her cheeks down around her neck. Could it really be that bad?

The doctor was lurking outside the tightly sealed doorway.

"Are you the granddaughter?"

"Yes."

He brought me in the room to see one of the most utterly terrifying sights of my life.

This was when the realization hit.

He was traumatizing. Wires attached to his head to measure his brain waves, a ventilator attached to his mouth, patches stuck to his chest under his hospital gown.

White gauze strapped around his head, holding all the pieces together.

I couldn't believe my eyes.. He was laying here.. He was really hurt.. He could really be dying.

My eyes filled with tears. My heart began to crack, before shattering into a thousand pieces.

A paralyzed feeling took over my body as my stomach dropped, I wanted to break down. Lay on the floor and ball, never to move again.

The depression cloud hovered over me as I went back to the waiting room. I hated myself.

Be strong, Tiff.

The dense voice said in my head.

Don't cry, you're better than that.

Was I really? Was I truly strong enough to fight the monsters inside of me?