Tears of Grace
They buried my little girl today. That though alone kept running through her head. There were no more tears. The tears had run out long before the funeral. Whitley turned away from the window where the harsh rain fell against the glass. She could see Graham sitting on the couch in the living room, hands folded, head hanging. She knew his day had been just as rough as hers, Gracie and Graham had been so close. Whitley thought about the day Gracie was born, the way Graham held her in his arms, tears running down his face. To think, that was only four short years ago.
Whitley’s thoughts wandered through the years as if turning pages in a photo album. She remembered the happy times; first steps, first teeth, first Christmas and Gracie’s beautiful smile, which was forever embedded in her heart. Then, suddenly, like a wave of cold water, reality set in and the thought of never again seeing Gracie’s face light up with happiness brought a new rush of tears to her eyes.
Whitley’s mind wandered farther. She remembered back four months ago. The doctor had walked through the pastel colored hallway that was meant to make patients and visitors feel calm and warm, but now simply sent shivers up Whitley’s spine. The doctor informed Whitley that Gracie had a heart condition and about three more months to live. She remembered she turned to look at her daughter who was happily playing with one of the games in the waiting area. These cruel memories were vivid in her mind, haunting her every minute. She recalled painful nights in the hospital, holding Gracie’s small, weak hand as the doctor performed yet another test. Then, she thought of when the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do. Gracie died within that hour. Whitley’s tears flowed hotly down her face as she held tightly onto Graham.
The days that followed were filled with familiar faces. Many eyes with tear-stained cheeks met Whitley’s and expressed feelings of pity and love. She was grateful for these people and all the help, but Whitley felt as though she hadn’t had a moment to herself.
The funeral was a flood of black surrounding a small little casket beneath a large spray of yellow roses. Yellow was Gracie’s favorite color. Whitley scanned the faces and her eyes dropped to the young, confused looking face of Neely, Gracie’s best friend at daycare. Whitley walked to Neely and knelt down, hugging her tightly.
Whitley snapped herself back to reality when she felt Graham’s strong hands resting on her shoulders. “They buried my baby!” And the tears came again.
They buried my little girl today. That though alone kept running through her head. There were no more tears. The tears had run out long before the funeral. Whitley turned away from the window where the harsh rain fell against the glass. She could see Graham sitting on the couch in the living room, hands folded, head hanging. She knew his day had been just as rough as hers, Gracie and Graham had been so close. Whitley thought about the day Gracie was born, the way Graham held her in his arms, tears running down his face. To think, that was only four short years ago.
Whitley’s thoughts wandered through the years as if turning pages in a photo album. She remembered the happy times; first steps, first teeth, first Christmas and Gracie’s beautiful smile, which was forever embedded in her heart. Then, suddenly, like a wave of cold water, reality set in and the thought of never again seeing Gracie’s face light up with happiness brought a new rush of tears to her eyes.
Whitley’s mind wandered farther. She remembered back four months ago. The doctor had walked through the pastel colored hallway that was meant to make patients and visitors feel calm and warm, but now simply sent shivers up Whitley’s spine. The doctor informed Whitley that Gracie had a heart condition and about three more months to live. She remembered she turned to look at her daughter who was happily playing with one of the games in the waiting area. These cruel memories were vivid in her mind, haunting her every minute. She recalled painful nights in the hospital, holding Gracie’s small, weak hand as the doctor performed yet another test. Then, she thought of when the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do. Gracie died within that hour. Whitley’s tears flowed hotly down her face as she held tightly onto Graham.
The days that followed were filled with familiar faces. Many eyes with tear-stained cheeks met Whitley’s and expressed feelings of pity and love. She was grateful for these people and all the help, but Whitley felt as though she hadn’t had a moment to herself.
The funeral was a flood of black surrounding a small little casket beneath a large spray of yellow roses. Yellow was Gracie’s favorite color. Whitley scanned the faces and her eyes dropped to the young, confused looking face of Neely, Gracie’s best friend at daycare. Whitley walked to Neely and knelt down, hugging her tightly.
Whitley snapped herself back to reality when she felt Graham’s strong hands resting on her shoulders. “They buried my baby!” And the tears came again.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment