She lies there, between life and death. Sure, she breathes, she eats what is placed in her mouth. When her father comes to visit, as he does every day, is there a glimmer of recognition? Does her face light up, just the tiniest bit? He'd like to think so. He tells me, with a tremulous voice, that she squeezed his hand today. Six months ago, she was wrested from the jaws of death, dragged from the wreckage of her car, and FORCED to stay alive, with drugs and tubes. But, what is this life she now leads; what is the life her family now leads?
I walk down the stairs, heavy hearted, doubting myself, my purpose.
And then I see her: Kate. She's 19 this week. She smiles so sweetly at me as she walks towards me, a little awkwardly, as she often is with me. She kisses my cheek, that gentle act of tenderness. She tells me how she has been accepted to college, and we talk about her new life, always skirting around the events of two years ago, when she, too, was dragged from a wrecked car, and from death's cold embrace. And I know: as long as I can, I will always try.