My mother

She has been sitting in this chair for hours. Her back is bothering her. She has bags under eyes and her hair is an absolute mess. The fluorescent lights of this waiting room aren't doing her skin any favors. She looks awful. He son has been laying in a sterile ICU for days. She has lost count of how long it's been. Four days? Seven? Ten? Who knows. Who cares. Her son needs her. She will sit here for as long as it takes. They only let her see him every few hours. The next visit time is in.. she checks her watch. Two hours. She turns her attention to her husband. He sleeps next to her in blue waiting room chair, snoring lightly. His neck is bent back and his mouth hangs open just slightly. It doesn't look comfortable. She and her husband both haven't slept in a real bed in days. He has been her rock and battle buddy in this and for the past forty-three years. She is grateful for his support. Lord only knows what she would do without him. It is in times of turmoil like this that he catches the brunt of her emotions. She doesn't know how he deals with her but she knows that love is the reason why. She checks her watch again. One hour, fifty-eight minutes. Time is moving too slowly. The mother in her needs to check on her son. She knows he is in pain and only wants to comfort him. When the accident happened, she had seen him scream and writhe in agony for hours. It had shattered something inside her. No mother should ever have to see her child go through something so horrific. No child should have to endure such suffering. The burns on his body would take months to heal. There would be more painful surgeries, more painful physical therapy, more painful moments of waiting. It is the waiting she hates the most. It makes her feel useless. She turns as she hears a familiar voice. Her daughter. She rises from her chair. The mother thinks she is hiding her pain but her daughter can tell that the stress is starting to affect her mother's body. The getting up is slow and choppy instead of one fast movement. The daughter pretends not to notice. Pretends it doesn't kill her soul a bit to see her mother in such a state. The daughter notices her father still sleeping in the blue chair. She decides not to wake him. She hugs her mother in greeting and plasters a smile on her face before pulling away. Her mother will not know how worried she is, how she has cried herself to sleep in worry over her brother. She refuses to let any emotion other than love and support flow through her. Her mother needs her. And here the daughter will stay. The mother looks at her daughter as they begin to converse. Her daughter looks good. She is amazed but not fooled. Her daughter has always been good at making a bad situation better. And this situation is no different. But the mother can see the wrinkles of worry around her daughters eyes. While the clock on the wall ticks on, her daughter brings several smiles and even a few laughs from the tired mother. The mother checks her watch again. 57 minutes. Her daughter places her hand in her mother's in comfort, in understanding. The daughter begins to pray aloud. A few people look at the women strangely. The women don't care. The mother listens to her daughter as words of thanksgiving flow from her mouth to their God's ear. Thanks for sparing her brother's life. Thanks for the knowledge of the doctors and the miracle of medical science. Thanks for every small blessing she can think of. The mother tries to hold back the tears of anger. Anger that her God has left her family in this living Hell. Anger that her son even needs these doctors. Anger that medical science has not relieved all of his suffering. The dam breaks and the water flows from her eyes unhindered. It is several minutes before the mother realizes her daughter is no longer praying for her brother but for her. For her strength, for her sanity, for her endurance. The daughter ends the prayer and holds her mother tightly. The mother feels better somehow. Her faith and strength renewed just a bit and she knows her God has not left her. The mother checks her watch again just as a nurse walks up to the women. Time is up and she will be able to see her son. She hugs her daughter in goodbye and follows the nurse to the sterilization room. She scrubs her hands and arms. She covers her self in an ugly green gown and puts the cloth boots over her shoes. She dons the clothing as if putting on armor, calling on her God to give her a warriors strength. The mother takes a deep breath and steadies herself. She steps into her son's room ready for battle.

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Aspiring author

Dubai, United Arab Emirates