"Dear"

One day long ago, I wanted to come to San Bernardino to visit my husband (boyfriend back then). I lived in Riverside and took the bus. When I arrived, he wasn't waiting for me. I waited for a little while and began to worry. I did not know his mom or step-dad, but I had their phone number. I called and introduced myself and asked for my "boyfriend." His mom told me he had to work late and where was I? I told her I could wait for him -- I was at the bus stop. She said they would come for me. When they drove up I was taken aback by her beauty and grace. His step-dad was tall and strong -- and they were both so nice. They took me to their home and I remember how beautiful it was. A forest green rug with white couches. Gold-colored wall decorations, a huge mirror on one wall and a marbled dining table. I sat down quietly and she quickly invited me into the kitchen. There they were cooking together, talking, laughing. She called him "Dear." He called her "Dear," too. I was so quiet and shy, but I sincerely enjoyed watching them. They were so happy.

I cry and sadness overwhelms me to see him laying in that hospital bed. I want him to get up. I want to say "Hi, Compa!" But he's in a coma. Does he hear us? Is he waiting for us to let him go? Can we let him go? We pray for a miracle -- we want to prove the doctors wrong. "...Thy will be done . . . on earth as it is in heaven." It's so hard to let go.