June 23, 2013

She was walking right towards me; such a pretty young woman. Golden hair cropped short yet curled around and under the ears. Her eyes were blue and sparkling, like sapphires. Slender. She was pretty, quite the sight. I knew immediately there was something about her.

We approached each other steadily, our paths directly in line. Then our eyes met, and she began to speak. "You're with Mr. Cosgriff?" she asked. "The neurosurgeons want to have a family conference."

I knew that moment what I had felt sure of for several weeks. Dad was going to die.

I was the first one at the hospital that Sunday morning, about a week after his surgery for a subdural hematoma. He wasn't responding. He had been sick for about two weeks before entering the hospital. I had feared the worst, knew it, and now it was confirmed. Dad had less than a one percent chance of pulling through. He would be gone on Tuesday.

June 23, 2013. Such a pretty young thing. Such horrible words coming from her lips.