My wife had come and gone, my son had just left and I'd fallen asleep. It had to have been the middle of the night when I next opened my eyes to see my daughter there asleep in a chair at the foot of the bed.
I still had trouble remembering just what had happened yesterday that had led to my fall. Doctors had come and gone and I was still trying to come to terms with words I had overheard them using in talking with my family. Words like: paralysis, coma, vegetable and prognosis...........poor. For some reason, the only movement I could control was that of the index finger of my left hand.
I had felt so sorry for my wife. All morning, she had sat with me and talked of nothing but the overwhelming guilt she carried and how much she really loved me. She spoke of times she had deliberately hurt me, of comments she had made in anger, of things said and done to shame me in some way or other. I wished I could have told her I forgave her all those things, but all I could do was make little tapping motions with my one finger. It was as though I was a priest listening to her confession that went on for hours.
My son spoke of the gratitude he felt for all the things I had taught him about life and what was most important in being a man in today's world. Raymond was a junior in college now, the first of our family to achieve this honor in more than a hundred years. My son spoke with confidence, with pride and a love for me that made me nearly explode with happiness. Still, all I could do was tap that one finger and try to let my pride in him show in my eyes.
My wife and son were gone now. I had no idea what time it might be, but I could see it was dark outside. Maybe I couldn't move, and maybe even now I was dying. But, I could still hear...and see.....and think. There were many things I still wanted to do in this life, a promotion at work that was overdue, investments I wanted to make, a new home for my family.
Even as I thought of things unfinished in my life, I realized I was prepared to die. God had truly blessed me in this life. He had given me a family to love and protect. He had given me the physical strength to provide for them and the wisdom to prepare them to go on alone after my death. If this was my time, I was ready. It was at that moment I heard Mija...........my daughter speak.
"Daddy, I am so scared. Please don't leave us now."
She was on the bed with me now, twelve years old and, like a little colt, she was all arms, elbows, legs and knobby knees. She was sobbing with an intensity that frightened me. Even in my paralyzed state, I could sense her overwhelming fear.
"Papa, I know I'm not beautiful like mama, though you tell me I am every day. I know I'm not smart like Raymond, though you make me feel smart when you praise me for the things I do and the choices I make. What I am, papa is just a scared little girl. There are things going on in my head and my body that I don't understand. I feel like I am walking on a fence and if I fall, there's no one to catch me.............no one but you, papa."
My one finger was now tapping wildly against my covers. Someone needed me desperately and I couldn't respond. Suddenly my head felt it would explode. It was like a dam had broken and water was flowing everywhere. I had never experienced such pain in my life. One moment I was struggling to find a way to comfort my Mija, the next moment the terrible pain and my world vanished.
There was still pain, but I could hear voices again.
"The clot was too deeply imbeded in his brain to remove it with surgery."
"........some kind of miracle"
".............return to normal in..........."
"Papa.............I love you."
I lost consciousness again.
Five days later, I was released from the hospital. Two weeks after that, I went back to work.
"Mija......"
"What, papa?"
"You are the most beautiful young woman in the whole world."
"Shush, papa. You know that isn't true." Even so, she blushed and squeezed my hand as we walked through the park together.
"Mija, you got A's in two subjects on your report card. I am so very proud of you."
"I had to work really hard to do that, papa."
"I love you.......you know that, Mija?"
"I know, papa. I love you too."
We saw the Hernandez family seated at a picnic table up ahead. Mija let go my hand and ran ahead to visit with them. Carlos Hernandez was fourteen years old. He seemed in awe of this self assured and confident young woman who was my daughter. He would blush every time she looked his way.
I'm glad God let me have this extra time. I'm glad he gave me the wisdom to realize little girls are very precious and fragile things. And that there is no such thing as too many "I love you"s or too many "You are beautiful"s in the life of a child.
