I’m weak without your strong hands to guide me.

January 9, 2012
By Jessica Schlebach BRONZE, Newport, North Carolina
Jessica Schlebach BRONZE, Newport, North Carolina
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She pushed her auburn hair out of her face for the millionth time that day, and her thoughts slipping away from her again. How? She thought. How could this happen to you? Her mind kept wondering until a man in a white coat walked out of the stone white room.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes gentle and sympathetic but she didn’t notice.
Her body became too weak and she had finally hit rock bottom, her knees fell to the ground with her hopes. The stately man walked away knowing that he was of no use trying to comfort the 16 year old girl. Tears poured from her hazel eyes down her slender cheeks to stop at her pale lips. She brought her head up slowly and prepared herself to take this. She stood and started to repeat the mantra she had been saying to herself for days.
He will be fine, he promised. She chanted in her head, with her slow even strides towards her personal opinion of hell. How could such a small, boring room cause me so much grief? She had asked that question to herself many times before and once again got no answer. She stepped through the worn out threshold of the old hospital room, but she could not bring herself to look at the man she considered her father.
“Holly,” he stuttered out, his voice relax but saturated with years of wisdom some of which he had not been given the chance to share.
Holly did not raise her head she couldn’t, nor would she. She couldn’t stand to look at the strongest man she knew in the weakest state. She would not let her memory of him be tarnished by this.
“Look at me please.” She finally raised her head with a look of anger blackening her once gentle face.
“Why! So I can watch you waste away! NO! I won’t allow it. You can’t make me watch you give up!” She screamed at the older man.
Such harsh words did not seem to faze him though; he merely looked at her gently. He seemed to understand her tears and screams. He stretched his out his worn out hand to the breaking porcelain figure in the room. She took it with mild hesitation, but she knew this might be the last time she held his wrinkled hand.
“Papa why do you have to leave me? Why can’t we stay happy like always? Why are you slipping away?” She didn’t want to ask him these questions for fear of the answer but she knew that she had to.
“Holly, oh my sweet butterfly, I know you don’t understand why god would take me when you have given him everything else.” He tried to soothe her but it was useless.
“NO your right I don’t understand, he got mama and daddy, and grandma. Why do I have to lose you too?” She didn’t understand why god hated her so much. Had she done something to anger him? She started to wonder these things the day she was told she was going to lose him just like everyone else. She had been strong far to long; holding in all the emotions till they exploded.
“Papa I love you to much to let you go. Why wont you stay? Papa I love you too much to live without you. You are my best friend, and my only family. I can’t lose you too, please don’t make me.” Holly spoke in a breaking voice, one that couldn’t hold on much longer. She knew he didn’t have a choice but she wanted him to try to fight the inevitable.
“Butterfly” he spoke gently “you cant say no to god, I’m going to be an angel, and I promise too keep you safe.”
Holly sat next to him and kept her small hand within his larger one.
“Papa, please don’t go. Please I need you.” She started to cry knowing that he was fading.
“Remember,” He said slowly “Remember, when I would tickle you and you would laugh so hard you cried. Or the times we watched Scooby-Doo and you said you wanted a dog like him. Even when I said I could get you a talking dog, you said it didn’t matter because I was better than any talking dog. Remember when I taught you how to popcorn decorations on for the tree? Do you remember these things?”
His pulse was slowing and they both knew he had mere minutes, it was also becoming a challenge to breathe but he wanted to spend his last minutes with his granddaughter not some doctor. So he didn’t tell her to get a nurse or his doctor he merely asked her to give him a big hug, and tell him one of her famous stories. So she hugged him with all her might and love, she kissed his pale forehead and started the story.
“The wise man told her that life was like a river, the more you push against it the harder it gets, but she turned to him and said what is life without a good battle?” Holly looked at grandfather, one more time.
“Butterfly,” He said, quietly “I love you.”
“I love you more Papa.” She said just as quiet, and with those words the machine he was hooked to, went of sending one sharp note through the old hospital. The room was set ablaze with nurses and doctors trying to save her best friend, but it was useless and she knew that. She knew that he was already gone, looking down at her holding grandma close like he used to.
“Just like you used to say, one day the butterfly must fly away.” With those final words out of Holly’s mouth she left the hospital; with rivers of tears pouring out of her eyes, and a gentle white butterfly following close behind. Her angel was always with her.

The author's comments:
I had a dream about a week before I started writing this piece and I woke up in tears. I have not lost my grandpa but it would kill me.

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