Soon

"Are you sad?" I ask. Her lip quivers, her head nods. "Why?" I ask. Her hands splay out, her shoulders shrug. She crawls into my lap. She nestles her head into my shoulder, and before i can do it she pats my back to comfort me. It's such an adult gesture made with such small hands. "Don't go," she says, her warm words pour into my neck. "I'll be back soon," I say as I gently pry her out of my lap. My 12 hour shift has sneaked nearer to 13. "When is soon?" she asks as I plop her down onto the floor. "Soon," I say again because I don't know the answer. The elevator doors close between us. My day is ending and hers has just begun.

A World Away

She came back down to our floor from the Intensive Care Unit a mess. Her toes are dead and black, circulation conserving itself to vital organs. The wounds on her legs and back are so deep you can nearly see through them; her immune system non-existent. Tubes in her nose, in her arms, in her chest. It's a lot to take in. As I'm processing it, I find a poster on her wall. A collage of pictures: prom, sleepovers, football games, life. Her hair is long, her smile innocent and genuine, her laugh captured at just the right moment. It wasn't that long ago, or that far away, but it's another world from where we are now.