Panting now, walking through the long hallways... and which elevator was it to get to the lobby???
The further I get from her the worse it feels....just this growing sense of injustice? Not Why, but How?? And What the hell is going to happen? How can anything happen with all this silence and stillness?
However, if I don't get outside, if I don't breathe unfiltered air, I WILL panic. This much is clear so I keep roving.
Finally I'm out and I turn to look at the seemingly immense building, riddled with tiny windows and stacks of storm, this giant, the only thing protecting my broken, tiny, unmoving, love of my life. My smallest angel.
Isn't it funny how images of angels are tiny, and she was only six pounds when she was born. She is my light as both my babies are, as any mother would say at the foot of the hospital that houses them on the eve of a surgery that may or may not work to save them.
Will she ever be able to leave this place. I didn't know? No one did. She was not even three years old.
She did. We have photos!
Joyous pictures of the little face so happy to be able to go home and return to toys, and the familiar scents and sounds of her home. My daughter left her ordeal, and was granted a continuity in her little life.
Not only that but a massive raise in quality. No more pain, well not nearly the amount as before.
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