The Dawning of Humility

But my sister Amy and a friend of her’s were in the room with me, and who was I to force them out?  They had just as much of a right to be in there as I did.  So, seeing that our visiting hours were running terminably shorter, I decided to go ahead and pray with them in the room.

I knelt beside my mother’s bed, her unconscious face never once stirring.  The last time I had witnessed her conscious had been on the first day we had emitted her to the emergency room.  Now she was sprawled out before me, her face never once losing its interminable peaceful demeanor.  She appeared to be an angel who had broken a wing, and now she was recovering by taking a vacation here on earth.

My solicitude for her never once faltered.  And as I close my eyes and transport my mind back to the memory of that night, I can still feel the cool plastic beads and metal chains of the rosary as I clasped it between her lifeless hand and my own.  I can still feel my sister’s eyes resting upon me, as both her and her friend watched as I began to pray.  I prayed that my mother would be whole again, that the malicious attitude of my father would not waiver her inconceivable strengths and transparent weaknesses.  I prayed for peace to blanket her heart, mind, body, and soul, and I also prayed for her speedy and quick recover.  And when I had finished, I looked up and saw my sister’s brown eyes still resting upon my own lithe frame, her round pretty face and short brown hair only accentuating her flawless features.  Her concerns were just as prevalent as everyone else’s, and my heart went out equipped with sentimental concerns for everyone in my family, including my father.  Despite his arrogant, pompous, and indulgent attitude, a part of me still longed to believe that he truly cared about my mother, although I know now that none of the nurses in the hospital had really cared for him.  The pain from my mother’s migraines had grown so insufferable that she would forget when she had taken her last pill.  So as a result, she would sometimes end up taking twice the amount of pain medication that she had intended to take.  My father was never very supportive of my mother’s struggles, and the nurses remembered him because of it.

My father’s verbal abuse was prevalent from as far back as I can remember, and only seemed to grow more apparent as the years passed.  He stayed out later and later, rarely ever came home for dinner anymore, and seemed to avidly avoid the family whenever he could.  He dumped all of his responsibilities and problems on her, and once she took them on he blamed her profusely for the growing problems in their marriage. The nurses in the hospital had all become alarmingly aware of these characteristics inside of him, and they had all grown to detest him.  They had all come very close to not allowing him to visit my mother in ICU anymore, for it was becoming apparent that he was now doing her more harm than good.  It never happened, however, and as time wore on he spent less and less time visiting her. 

Nevertheless, a miracle had suddenly taken place.  The day after I had prayed with my mother, the doctors had decided to run a few more tests, just to see if her liver had improved at all before she was to be flown to Indianapolis for her transplant. Miraculously, her liver had improved by a considerable amount, and the operation had been cancelled.  We were all graciously relieved and rejoiced in the sudden rays of hope that illuminated the once darkened and grim future.  Within a few days, she had been sitting up on her own feeding herself, and she was insistent upon the revelation that she must go home, that she had work to attend to, and that she must not abandon her children. I watched in admiration as her health continued to hastily improve, and her spirits were slowly returning to her earthbound body.  Even the doctors could not explain it.  They had all been buzzing that it had been a miracle, one of astronomical proportions