This is a continuation of the previous stories, “The Prayer,” and “My Prayer.”  Some of the references will not make sense if you have not read them also.

So here I am again, wandering the hall of a hospital.  New town, new doctors, new rooms, new nurses, same story.  She finally fell asleep.  We have been here since yesterday trying to figure some things out.  The models at Vogue have nothing on her.  They have taken so many pictures of her body they could fill a magazine for a year.  After the thirteenth blood draw I was starting to look for long fangs on the nurses, someone here has to be a vampire.  I quietly have sat in my plastic chair, trying to be her rock.  Trying to bring comfort and relief.  Feeling like I have been failing miserably at all of the above.  They have finally found something that would at least take the edge off of her pain.  She fell asleep fitfully at first, but then slowly got into a rhythm.  I had to move.  My body hurts.  I told the nurse’s my phone number and told them to call me if she wakes up.  I need to wander.  I need breathe.

I need to clear my head, but that is the problem.  I can’t.  We are exhausted.  Physically we are running on fumes.  That would seem to be enough, but that is not the hardest part.  The hardest part of this journey is the mental part.  We don’t walk a straight line.  Most of it is uphill.  There are no halftimes, timeouts, or commercials.  We are just on all of the time.  Our story playing on and on.  It’s not even in HD.  Our weariness is so overwhelming it is like watching our life in black and white, everything is fuzzy and every once in a while we get that blank stare like when on the old tv’s you would get the rainbow screen with, “We are having technical difficulties.”  I have to keep moving or I will just crash, or at least that is what I tell myself.  I might crash to begin with, but then it turns into a crash up derby with my bed as I toss and turn because my body just wants me to stop.  It’s telling me that it is tired, So tired that it can’t get comfortable.  So of course I do the opposite and get out of bed.  I wander lost in thought of the next big climb.  The next set of stairs to get us where we need to be.  Trying to pull courage out of my little toe because it feels like all the rest of it has been used up.  Whether it is true or not I feel like I must have enough courage for all of us.  I feel like I need to be William Wallace standing in front of my army willing all of us to succeed.  Willing all of us to heal.  Probably carrying burdens that I don’t need to carry, but that is just my nature, so I do it anyway.

I start walking hallways and then different hallways on different floors.  I won’t admit to myself what door I am looking for but I know that if I wander long enough I will find it.  This is a big hospital and it is all new but it will be here, and I will find it.  After an hour of aimlessly walking on purpose I find my door and slowly walk in.  Hoping that I might find a moment of peace in the midst of chaos.  I sit down and try to find it.  I don’t ask “why” anymore.  It is what it is.  My thoughts turn to how to heal her and Miracles.  I suddenly feel a rush of sadness.  I keep hoping Walter or Father Francis would come walking in this door and tell me that everything was alright.  That we were all going to be okay.  That someday all of this was going to be worth it.  They are not here and I can’t be here anymore either.  I get up and go.  I need some fresh air.  I jump out the first outside door I run into.  I just need to breathe,  My anxiety goes into overdrive, my heart is racing.  I take in deep breaths trying to get under control.  I just want to scream, I want to crush something, I want to show something that I am in control of what is happening in my life.  I feel it coming and I try to hold it back.  I choke on my tears as they try to get out.  I won’t let them.  I shake as I hold them in.  Every muscle in my body is contracted as I squeeze the sadness so that it won’t get away.  I don’t win.  My sadness flows from my eyes as the tension from I don’t know how long is released.  I crumble to the ground with my back against the wall and my head in my hands.  My burdens fall to the ground with each drop.

I slowly gather myself up.  I really don’t feel any better or worse, more numb than anything else.  I just sit there and stare at nothing.  Feeling more embarrassed that I lost control, and very thankful that it is dark and the middle of the night and no one is around.

“Are you done?”

I about jump out of my skin.  I ran out of the building so fast I didn’t notice the wheel chair sitting to my right in the corner.  If I didn’t know better I would think that I am in the movie “Houseboat.” I am Cary Grant and Sofia Loren is talking to me.  She says it again in a beautiful Italian accent,

“Are you done?”

I am so caught off guard I really don’t know what to say, so I just say, “yes.”

“Gooood,” she says, “I am niiinty-twooo years old and I no-a-like-a people to be sad.”

I am gaining my senses and I ask, “Why are you here?”

“Ahh,” she says, “I sleep-a when I die, I make-a them bring me out-a here whenever I want too.”

“Okay,” I say, “but why are you here?” As I gesture to the hospital in general.

She throws her hands in the air in a grand gesture of disdain and says.  “My-a damn kids-a put me-a in a here.  They-a think-a there is a miracle-a waiting for a-me-a here. I a-have-a the cancer,  I am-a niiinty-twooo.  It is all-a-ready a miracle that I have-a lived -a- this a long.”

I chuckle and smile for the first time in thirty-six hours.  It feels really good.

“And zyou,” she says, “Why are you here?”

I begin to relay our story.  How we have been fighting for so long, and how we are so tired and worried and stressed.  I finished up and we sat in silence for a few minutes and I began to wonder if maybe she had fallen asleep, then she finally spoke up.

“So you-a here for-a miracle-a too?

I really wasn’t ready for that question.  I had really never thought about it like that, but the more I thought about it I guess she was right.  So I said, “yes I guess that is why we are here.”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” She says, “The foolishness of -a- the young-a-people,  you-a-think-a that-a miracle is-a easy.  Just-a-cause its a miracle does-a- not -a- make it -a painless.”

Yes, okay, I felt the slap in the face.  I raise my hands in a “slow down” gesture and say, “No that’s not what I’m thinking.  Sometimes I wonder if God is hearing me though,”

“Tsk Tsk Tsk,” she says again,  “He is-a- hearing -a- you-a- fine.  You no pay attention to what-a- he-a-doing worth a darn”

Yep, okay,slap, I felt it.  “What do you mean?” I ask.

“You -a-already-a-missed the first-a-miracle.  You-a- to -a- worried about the big -a- miracle and you are -a- missing all of -a- the -a-little ones.”

I’m lost, “What do you mean?”

“Time -a- you imbasile.  You -a- fight a long-a- time, You -a- get a more time than most yes.  That -a- is -a- the first -a-miracle!”

We sit in silence for a while.  I’m trying to let what she is saying sink in.  Trying to understand the depth of her thoughts.  I want to clarify so I ask, ” So what you are saying is that because I have been wanting, worrying, hoping, and praying for the big miracle that I have not been paying attention to the miracles that God has already granted in my life.  Including but not necessarily limited too more time with her than average.”

“Zyes, and time is-a- costly,”

I slowly nod my head in understanding.  “What’s your name by the way?”

“Isabella.”

“Well, thank you Isabella.  Thank you for some much needed perspective that I evidently really needed right now.”

Her expression softens and she says, “Come-a- now my-a- young-a- friend.  You -a- pray -a- with -a- me now. ”

I get up and move over to her and she grabs my hand with both of hers and begins.

“Dear -a- Father in -a- Heaven.  Please give -a- this -a- young man enough of -a- the strength to see your -a- miracles as you -a- give -a- them.  Hold -a- them all in your -a- grace and grant them a little -a- peace some -a-times.  He -a- is a good -a- young man,  help him as -a- you a see -a- fit.  In the name of the Father, the -a- Son, and the Holy spirit, Amen.

She gently squeezes my hand and says.

“you -a- get -a- back now.  You gone to long all -a- ready.”

With that I feel that I have been dismissed from my own private Catholic school.  I get up and go back inside and try to find my way back to where I am supposed to be.  As I walk I replay our journey in my mind and try to find how many places I probably have missed Gods hand in our lives.  It’s probably the same thing that Chester was talking about when he talked about providence.  I guess who ever said it was right.  “Sometimes we are to busy looking at the forest to see the trees.”  I don’t know if what Isabella said will change anything in my life.  I am still tired, but it will change the way I look at things.  What she said made me realize that even though I might not know it at the time, someone is standing with me and I am not alone.  For me that is worth more than anything.  So I will march on.  I will fight with what courage I have left and lead my warriors into battle no matter the odds.  I am not William Wallace but I have someone so much bigger on my side.