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Waiting

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Where is he?”
I was near frantic. I couldn’t help the tone of hysteria that was creeping in to my voice as each second ticked by.
“Ma’am, you need to calm down, there is nothing we can do right now.”
“I am his mother god d*@# it, there is a lot you can do, most importantly you can get me in to see him.”
The panic I was feeling was morphing in to anger. I was going to see my son whether they agreed to it or not.
“Why don’t you go sit down in the waiting area and we will come get you when he is out of the operating room.”
I was caught up in a whirlwind of emotion; going from panic to anger and finally to despair.
On the verge of tears, I turned away from the desk and made my way to the waiting area.
Looking around I saw nervous faces, and crushed faces, angry faces, and happy faces.
I saw an elderly man comforting his wife and a young boy comforting his mother.
That made me stop.
Would my son ever be able to comfort me again? Would i ever be able to hold my baby boy? Or tuck him in at night. Meet his first girlfriend or be there for his wedding.
I located an empty chair and deflated in to it. Tears spilling down my face.

I sat there staring at my hands for what seemed like hours.
Every time a nurse came in to the room I hoped, with every part of my body that she came bearing good new for me, and every time she walked out or called a name other then my own, I became more and more desperate.
Finally as I was about to charge up to the front desk and insist I see my son, a tired looking middle-aged nurse walked in.
“Davis, is there a Ms. Davis in the room?”
I shot out of my chair so fast and practically sprinted to the front of the room.
“That’s me, how’s my son is he OK?
Searching, digging for any information,
“Right this way Ms. Davis.”




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