Hide-And-Seek

Paige was our youngest daughter. Youngest of three, in fact. Julie and Michelle were in their early 20s and in college, starting at life. Kenan would be so proud. He used to say, “Thank the Lord for my beautiful black girls.” We buried him on Julie’s 21st birthday. The honor guard sounded their rifles, each shot shaking my insides. Then, they took the neatly-folded flag in white gloves and walked uniformly to me, and handed me the fabric for which Kenan had fought and died. And it was everything I could do, not to crumble. I had to be strong for my daughters.

Paige never fully understood what had happened to her father and, quite often, would ask, “Mommy, where’s Daddy?” in the way a five-year-old little girl, who missed her father, would say. I could never bring myself to tell her. I could never look into her eyes and tell her that she didn’t have a father anymore. So, instead, I would say, “Paige, Daddy is hiding right now. He told me this morning he would hide, and wait until you found him.” It was a game she and her father would play while he was home. It was her favorite game. I’d watch her run around the small house in her little pink slippers and tall-fitted shirt, searching for her father. Sometimes, I’d wait, longing for her to scream, “I’ve found him, mommy! I’ve found daddy!” But, time and time again, Paige became tired, and would come to me in my room, defeated, saying, “Daddy’s gone, Mommy. I can’t find him." And her big, brown eyes would tear up.

“No, Paige. Daddy isn’t gone.” I’d pick her up in my arms, take her across the hall to her room window, and point out to the sky and the moon. “Daddy is looking at the same stars and the same moon, sweetie. Daddy is here.” Paige would smile and point her little finger, counting each star, one by one, until she fell asleep.

_____________

The doctor’s words continue to ring in my ear.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Your daughter has lost a lot of blood, and suffered severe trauma to the head, along with a few internal injuries. It would be a miracle if she wakes up.”

Paige is going to die.

I abandon the thought as I recount the days, while twirling her curly, brown hair in between my fingers. She looks even peaceful now as she lays still in bed, with wires and tubes all around her and an IV poking into her small wrist. White bandages surround her legs, where her feet once were. My little baby lay still, trapped in a coma. Today is the fourth day she continues to fight for her life. Kenan would know what to do, I think to myself. He would know how to save her.

Julie is slumped in a chair across the room, her curls covering most of her face. The blanket I placed over her a few hours ago has been slowly sliding off onto the ground. She’s been asleep for a while now. Midnight passed when she first started snoring: after the last tear was shed. Her boyfriend dropped her off earlier today, and left without as much as an introduction. The mysterious man Julie calls "Tom" has been nothing more than a silhouette of a figure in the dark. She says they have been dating for about a year now. I haven’t seen or heard anything regarding the promise of a ring yet. "At least she’s here," I say to myself.

I sigh, and gaze at the empty chair in the other corner. Michelle came by two or three days ago and gave me a few words, a hug, a kiss, and a prayer before leaving. She didn’t pay too much attention to the little girl laying in the bed whose legs were missing. The visit was more of a chore than anything else for the woman with the diamond-studded earrings—fair bidding to the woman who gave her life, and the man who died protecting it.

I glance at the clock on the wall. 4 AM. Exactly 12 hours have passed since a white lady wearing a suit placed this pamphlet in my hand.

“My condolences, Ms. Yoruba,” she said. “We know how much your daughter means to you, and it pains us to see you this way.”

“We,” I asked.

“Ms. Yoruba, I represent an organization which focuses on organ donations. We help save and improve the quality of life for many people who need blood transfusions and organ transplants.”

“I see,” my hands shook with grief and anger. “If I could have more time to call the family, and search for other options…”

“I understand, ma’am. We don’t want to force you to make any decision. We just wanted to offer the option, which comes at no cost.”

“No cost but my child.”

She pursed her lips, and waited a few seconds before speaking again. “Ma’am, I don’t mean to overstep. We just hope you take some time to consider us. Your daughter, Paige, has suffered through a lot of grief and hurt and, at the very least, in the worst case scenario, we want to help that mean something. Your daughter can be the reason why other kids her age will experience life and pleasures it brings.” With that, she left the pamphlet with me.

I throw the pamphlet across the room, anger coursing through my veins. I want to slap her. I want to punch her right in the throat. How could she?... How dare she have the nerve… Paige… My precious baby girl… Paige…

Silence screams in my head. Something… Anything would be better than this.