Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

I spent six hours at the hospital today. It was for Hope. She had a bacterial infection that caused her blood pressure to drop drastically and would have been in an even further precarious situation if Dad had not brought her to the emergency room when he did. Even so, she will be staying the next couple of days at the hospital as they kill the infection and raise and stabilize her blood pressure. Needless to say, it prevented the planned trip to Grandpa’s and Grandma’s for Thanksgiving.
For about two hours, I was alone with Hope (besides the ever present nurses) and she told me, “I wish she was here today.” (Obviously, she was referring to you.) To which I responded, “Believe me, I did too. And Dad.” It was really rough. Dad wasn’t used to being the concerned parent—the mom. And I certainly wasn’t going to even try, although I was asked a couple of times if I was “Mom”—do I really look that old?
It was weird being in a hospital again. That was the first time since the day you died. I hated seeing Hope in pain and so miserable, though she has borne it well. Mary Faith left with Dad (that’s why I was alone with Hope) because she doesn’t like being in hospitals. I was almost selfish and said, “You think I do? At least you don’t have the picture of death in your head.” But I didn’t. I just agreed that I’d stay until Dad returned with his things to stay the night. Truly I was glad I remained—that’s the thing, I didn’t want to be there, and yet I didn’t want to leave her there.
Tomorrow night I’m spending the night. I think I also want to stay there longer just to get that image of death out of my head by replacing it with the image of healing and life.
Dad is pushing through it but I hate that he has to go through even a hint at loss. Because that’s what this was. Just an hour later, and Hope would have most likely been too far gone. But I think that’s what God may have intended to teach us: He’s still in control of everything. And He still wants us to keep living. He’s still got a plan—for Hope, for me, for Dad, for Mary Faith, for everyone. This wasn’t to scare us, but to make us believe in Him that much more.
That doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the crap out of us at initial thought—we are human after all—but we can breathe easily again, knowing he always has a purpose and no matter how that purpose affects us, our needs will always be provided.

Your daughter,
Hannah