T
o watch her worry and fret as she waited for news of how her little girl came through brain surgery was almost more than I could bear. Through her tears she recounted stories of her little girl and voiced her longing to be right there with her. As she continually checked her watch, counting down the time that the doctor said surgery should take, I tried to think of comforting things to say. My words did not seem appropriate, for she was in a place I had never been. How could I understand her vigil, the agony that waiting was causing her?
Finally, the telephone rang. Marie had come through surgery fine and would recover with time. The look of relief flooded her face. At last, this eighty-sixyear-old mother could relax, knowing her seventy-year-old “little girl” was going to be fine.
- Elizabeth Sharp Vinson