Touch
I followed the nurse down the hallway,
feeling as though I'd suddenly woke from a long sleep.
And.yet this didn't border on reality
as the nurse rounded the corner
and then another
and disappeared.
I called after her.
I ran after her,
but I was in a maze. I didn't recognize
anything I saw.
The walls,
the halls,
the floor or the people milling around.
So many of them.
So many strangers.
Where was my husband?
Where was my little boy
waiting for me
to come out, all better?
Healed?
Mama's not sick anymore, sweetie.
I screamed for the nurse to wait for me,
but she was gone.
I was alone.
Instead, there were lights,
out in front of the hospital.
I was outside.
In the dark, the bitter cold.
Should I feel the wind, whipping my hair around?
Should I feel the snow, blowing and stinging my face?
I didn't feel it.
As I wandered past people,
doctors and paramedics,
I realized why I didn't feel the cold
the way I should.
I could see them.
But I was gone.
Gone,
and my family had left this place
without me.
I wanted to cry and scream,
but I was too numb to know anything
except that I wanted to go home.
I needed to go home
to see my little boy.
He needed me.
God, he needed me.
He always did, so much, and I had to go to home.
But, on the far side of town,
far side of reality,
a nightmare,
in the dark and cold, I couldn't find my sense of direction.
I kept walking forward and back
and nothing seemed right.
Should I feel the wind, whipping my hair around?
Should I feel the snow, blowing and stinging my face?
Nothing seemed right until I stood still.
I closed my eyes,
groped for what I knew
and I was home.
There was my husband,
my sister.
And my little boy ran into the room,
his "hair" towel on,
pretending to be a princess, like always.
I reached for him,
but, like always, he never stood still.
I touched my husband,
hoping that wherever I was,
I would be here, where they were,
for just a second.
I touched my sister.
A miracle? Just a little miracle?
Were they talking about me?
I couldn't understand anything except my own desperation.
Just let me touch my son,
touch him,
and let him feel me,
then I'm Yours, Jesus,
if that's the way it has to be.
Just let me touch him.
I closed my hand around his small, solid fingers,
and for one moment I imagine my mile-a-minute, never-stand-still wonder
stopped,
felt...
It's mama, sweetie. I didn't leave you. I didn't meant to.
I love you so much, more than anything.
I know you need me
and the thought of not being with you
kills me.
I'm not thinking about my career, my work,
all the millions of endless things I have to do.
The things that never could seem to wait
the way I always asked you to wait.
I'm thinking
Jesus, I won't make you the silly promise that I'll never ask anything of you again,
but I am asking now.
One more chance.
One more to get it right.
Do it right. Do what really matters.
See to only those things that mean everything
and not the things that don't.
They don't matter here, where I am now,
where the wind doesn't touch me,
the snow doesn't sting my face.
And then he's running away again,
his little fingers slipping from mine,
his long hair streaming behind him.
And I know that death is holding my baby,
touching him,
and realizing
he can't feel me
anymore.
Please let me wake from this dream.
This nightmare.
Please.
