In all of us, there are few dates that we can’t help but remember it. In my case it was June 18, 2007. It’s the date that I’m afraid to die.
I remembered very vividly. It was a chilly, but sunny Monday morning, around 7.30 A.M.
Normally, I would be up, and dressed, getting ready for work. Instead, I was in the hospital, next to my wife in the gurney.
After 12 hours of great pains she had to endure, in addition to the chaos created by the medical personals running back and forth, I felt so helpless and confuse. I wanted to help her so much, but all I could do was watching her in agony. Then everything seem worth it, our bundle of joy arrived. All 7 pounds and 8 ounces of her.
I held her in my arms. I couldn’t help it but cried, and tears of joy trailed down my cheek. I was shock. I was confuse. “I create this?” I said, looking at the doctor for an answer. He looked at me, “I hope so,” he said, in a smile. Then patted me on the back and left the room.
My wife was extremely exhausted, but managed to ask me for a look at our baby. I handed the baby to her, and together, mother and child sleep peacefully. The room was quiet and tranquil. The only sound was from an air-conditioning turning on.
In my mind, however, it was the opposite. I was frantic, I paced back and forth throughout the room like a crazy person. I checked under the bed, in the cabinet, but I couldn’t find it. I thought, “How can this be? Who’s ever giving me this Angel is playing a joke on me.” “He’s giving me the most delicate thing in the universe without a Manual.” I said to myself.
Half an hour later, I realized, I would be the person to help this child paint what would become of her life. I started to afraid then. I began to scare of dying, because I couldn’t help her if I wasn’t around.
To Be Continued
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