Monday, July 12, 2010


She filled her special cup with the company logo with ice water, and sat down at her desk. What she really wanted was a grande non-fat vanilla/hazelnut latte from starbucks. She buried herself in work, trying to ignore the fact that she’d awakened an hour and a half early that morning and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. Being that she was seven months pregnant, lack of sleep was not something she could easily ignore. The news she’d received the day before still stuck in her head. It wasn’t something that was going to be forgotten anytime soon, or ever. It wasn’t shocking news. She’d known it was coming. It was twenty three years in the making, after all, and she was only twenty seven. It felt, at that moment, as if her whole life had led up to this. She was sad. She was always sad when she thought about this, and the fact that she couldn’t fix it. But she didn’t cry. Not even her raging pregnancy hormones made her cry. She was used to not being able to fix it. It hurt, though. A little piece of her heart longed to tell someone. The rest of her wanted to bury it. She had, on very few occasions, talked to people about this topic. It wasn’t easy for her to talk about. For some reason, she felt like she should be used to the way things were. She felt that way today, too. Today, though, it was different. It was more final, though still unknown. She felt like stone, strong and cold, but at the same time, she felt weak. She heard the rumble of thunder outside her office building, and it seemed to shake her to her core. Rain seemed appropriate at that moment. Six months. She didn’t know what to do with this information. She wanted to go back and change things. She had wanted that for as long as she could remember. She had wondered how it would end, but now that the end was nearer, she wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. The prediction could be wrong, after all. There was a discrepancy in some of the information leading to this prediction. But, she knew in her heart, it didn’t change anything. It might change the timeline, but the timeline was just an educated guess to begin with. The fact remained. Her sweet Daddy, who let her dance on his feet as a little girl and told her how pretty and special she was, who made her smile and molded her into the woman she was today, who she had helplessly watched suffer for so long, was dying.
To be continued...

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