THE RISING COST OF WATCHING

One of her better days

I am spending my time in a chair watching my daughter suffer. It is that simple, she is suffering. Every morning I enter her room and seeing the consequences of her being so ill. She is in disarray and angry, she is uncomfortable and sometimes drifts off to sleep for a little while, only to have some staff person take her blood temperature or blood reading oxygen level.

As I sit there is another patient in the bed across the room. She must have been in some catastrophic event and has been hospitalized for months, leaving two children to her husband's care. She is fearful that her husband is cheating on her. He, on the other hand, is home with two little children busy raising them until mom comes home.

There is the constant beeping of the oxygen machine that sends it annoying alarm when the lady does not breathe well. The traffic of the aids moving in and out, the blasting of her TV gets louder as the time flies by.

Meanwhile, I turn my attention to other things to alleviate the stress that is building up in me. I do a Sudoku or crossword puzzle, read the newspaper and type or come up with jokes for Facebook, all worth the while since my attention is diverted somewhat from the agony of my daughter Ellen’s condition.

When she is in her greatest pain, she looks at me and grabs my arm her eyes look into mine and plead, talking to me in a quizzical madness. “What is happening Daddy, why is this happening, please make it stop.

I ask God why he is doing this to the innocent and wonder maybe there isn’t a God. What has he wrought but needless, senseless pain that serves no purpose but agony for an innocent child of his?

As the morning drags on the wearier I become, the more agitated I feel, the more anger and disgust I have for the day and the belief that there is a God of any kind. Tell me the sin that deserves this pain and suffering for the last two years and yes, even a lifetime?

I see on Facebook people posting things about God, about angels and sadly I feel sorry for them for their faith is one of seeking to be spared what I deal with.

My daughter Ellen is 47-years old and so I wonder what the future will be once she is done suffering. I would imagine it to be my turn to suffer as I age and come to the end of life. Maybe the end of life has already occurred for me.