Monday, January 03, 2005
Pray
He is in the hospital tonight, unaware of the nine hours of surgery that he has just been through.
To think that on Christmas day I spoke with him for the first time in five years.
And now... a single wrong step made on a dark night atop of an icy spot in a climate where the ice has no right to be. And that's it. One minute you're there, and the next you're out of control, down a flight of stairs to the sting of salt water below.
From that moment you're unaware. Not of your mother, crying in the waiting room, unable to stand the torture of hour upon hour of not knowing, thinking it can't be good for this to take so long. Not of the doctors, rushing about you, trying to stem the wound, trying to hold in your life force. Not of your family, the pacing, the midnight phone calls, the flourishes of anger brought on by an inability to cope. Not even of... well what of that - not even of prayer?
I don't know. But I do know that I prayed my guts out last night and this morning I was told he was going to live. And maybe its delusion or wishful thinking or something I just want really bad to be so, but I believe that he was aware of it. Of all of it sent out to him. That we wouldn't let him go.
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