“Angie, it’s best that we don’t prolong his suffering,” said my brother gently.
A freak accident, and my Gerry lay in a deep coma, surrounded by strange tubes, hooked to monitors that beeped. The doctors said there was no ‘hope’, and it would be ‘practical’ to turn off life support.
I wouldn’t let them.
I need you. I am pregnant. You must come back. For me. For our baby.
I whispered to him. Every day. For six months.
Later, he said he remembered seeing a bright light. And hearing happy laughter.
“Mommy, what’s that?” she asks, pointing at the rusty old anchor chain.
Should I give her the usual rational explanation?
“Sweetheart, you know that warm fuzzy feeling when a puppy looks at you, a baby suddenly flashes a gummy smile, a horse trustingly lifts its hoof so you can remove that stone? The chain represents that feeling. It’s called Love. Timeless, eternal, yet strong enough to keep you anchored at all times.”
Her small hand links with mine, as we both turn and look at Love. Ruggedly beautiful against the backdrop of jagged rocks, rough seas, pristine sands.
Word Count: 100
It’s my Birthday on 5th June.
As I look back on the last 43 years of my life, I know it’s love that has kept me anchored, no matter how stormy the seas. I dedicate this piece to my 12 year old daughter and my husband.