Eaves
It was obvious in his eyes. He didn’t have to utter a word. Their son did not make it.
She cried quietly into his shoulder praying for strength, praying for courage. How could she make it? She did not want to go on, but there was her husband, there were her three other children. There was her audience. She is a columnist in the local paper and a celebrated author of children’s stories. This was an ending she could not have imagined for her 14 year old Dean.
They sat down in the third row of chairs in the emergency room. She could not understand anything anymore. For all she knew her son was a well adjusted teenager, both athletic and artistic and given to profound reflections.
He ingested a whole month’s worth of downers, which she took for her anxiety attacks, this morning. She found him in his room midmorning because he did not come down for their date to go to the bookstore for their monthly shopping spree.
“I think we should tell the kids,” her husband said.
She wiped her tears, got up and headed for their Mini Cooper. God help me, she prayed.
-end-
No comments:
Post a Comment