1.70 Confession

Uncle Fern is dead. I feel like a thorn's lifted from my side. A deeper, more lethal one replaces it though, as I pace back and forth in front of the operating room where David is currently fighting for his life. I wipe the tears that have been spilling down my cheeks since we rushed him to the hospital the day before.

"Honey, you haven't eaten for four hours. Please, we can take care of things here. Eat something." Mom begs me. She's sitting on one of the chairs along the walls, fidgeting with her bag. Gramps is beside her, his eyes closed in silent prayer. All around us, David's friends crowd the place, each on their own heads in silent worry.