Christina, Act II

"So, we didn't know until the next day, but it worked. From the top of the hill, you could look down and see the pond we had created. Our little dam...." a loud beeping the the hall interuppted the story. We all looked for a moment, but it wasn't for us. "The little dam we and Christina built made a pond a couple feet deep and as wide as a small swinging pool."

I paused and looked at my audience, I couldn't believe what brought us here. Around us were Christmas decorations, snowmen and Santas. Cardboard images and fake snow. It didn't conceal the fact we were in a tiny University of Michigan Hospital waiting room. We were out of the hospital room so others could visit.

Just a few days ago, we had adjusted sleeping arrangements at my parent's house. Christina was coming in from Tennessee, where she had lived for the last year or so. It was just going to be for a few days, and we hadn't seen her since last year. We made space for her in what used to be Justin's bedroom and what is now the kids playroom.

When she arrives she is happy to see us, but sick and exhausted from the trip. She is lethargic and not quick to respond. It is hard to tell if the journey was that bad, or if she really is coming down with something bad. She briefly talks about other things, but she is misrible. Head throbbing, body aches, weak, and generally ill. I would like to talk more, but she needs sleep. There is talk of going to the doctor, but sleep first.

The next day, while I am at work, I learn that Christina is taken to the hospital by ambulance. She was not acting right for a little while, then had some kind of seizure. I heard it looked serious, but I tell myself it will be OK. She is hear for Christmas and it has to be OK.

I haven't told Dave, who everyone calls Pip and Rainbow about these things, but they know. They have been here even longer than I have. Instead I've told them of stories from our childhood. They, in turn, have told me stories from high school and after. We are bonded because of my cousin, who lays in a coma, a few doors down. We hang on every word we hear, looking for hope. When it is in short supply, we tell stories from better days, each filling the gaps for the other. Then it is time for us to go.

We know it is over, before it is over. On the day, I work a partial day before I head to the hospital. My mind runs through all of the history Christina and I shared, while I drive. It is not enough. It seems we shared so little and she hasn't even really started to live. I pray. I plead with God. My heart is all wrong and selfish and unfocused.

I don't stop at information. I know every turn, every elevator to get there. I walk in a daze.

Pastor Jeff meets me at the door of the room, as I'm about to walk in. "She just passed," he whispers.