I would like to give a most generous thank you to Duke0467 for his editing assistance on this story. Much thanks for both his patience and guiding hand.
*****
Both Gwen's husband and 18 year old son were on life support while she miraculously escaped the car accident with nary a scratch physically. Emotionally she is a wreck as any good mother and wife would be while facing the impending loss of both her son and husband.
It's Michael, her son that she is particularly worried about as she finds him utterly adorable. Given the choice of if only one could live her husband, Tom, would come out on the losing end every time.
Now in the quiet, nearly deserted, waiting room, Gwen glances at her watch, noticing it's nearly 1 am. Michael should be out of surgery by now. She gets up stretches, preparing to head to the nurse's station to inquire if there is any news, when the doctor, a middle aged bespectacled woman, that looks to be of Indian descent, hustles into the room.
"Mrs. Turner, sit down please. I have news."
"W-hat is it. Is my son alright." Her voice is quavering and on the point of breaking.
"Sit down please and let me explain where we are at."
Gwen sits down on the old waiting room coach while the doctor settles down next to her.
"The surgery was . . . semi successful. We got the internal bleeding to stop. He is in stable condition in regards to that."
"Oh thank God. Thank you doctor."
"Don't . . . not yet Mrs. Turner. His condition is still precarious. "
"Tell me." Gwen says digging into her purse to pull out yet another Kleenex.
"He has suffered a major head trauma that has left him in a coma."
"He will wake up though right. I mean he is not going to die."
"His brain activity is limited but stable. As of now there is no danger of him passing that is the good news."
"And the bad news, Dr. Mutafia, is what?"
"Ahh . . ." The doctor sighs heavily as Gwen braces herself. "We simply don't know when your son might regain consciousness. It could be tonight, a month from now, maybe a year. We simply don't know. It's in God's hands now. I am afraid there is precious little more to do at this point but wait . . . and pray."
"But you can keep him alive right? While we wait."
"He is stable, with the help of a breathing apparatus. He can be fed intravenously, so no he is in no immediate danger. Just so you understand Mrs. Turner," the small woman grips her hands, "your son may never wake up."
"But also, he may wake up at any given time though correct?"
"Yes, he may that is true also."
"I shall think positive and pray." Of course she will pray. Gwen is and has always been a strict Catholic of unshakable faith. Or so she thought.
"That is always good, maybe between that and some heartfelt prayers God will see fit to bring your son back to you."
"Maybe."
"Now as for your husband, I was told by Doctor Lampley, he could not speak with you personally as he got called away for another urgent emergency, that your husband . . ." the doctor shakes her head sadly.
"He didn't make it?" Gwen responds trying to hide the apathy in her voice.
"I am afraid not. He passed on the operating table."
One hour later, Gwen is in her son's room looking at him sadly. She had just stopped by the hospital's chapel and prayed to God that her son, please, please wake up and come back to her. His once cute and boyish 18 year old face is covered almost entirely in bandages. His breathing, with the help of the machine, appears to be slow and steady.
She pulls a chair, it's large and surprisingly comfortable, from the corner of the private room close to the bed so she can sit and hold his hand. She strokes over and over again the several small tufts of his brown hair that have managed to escape from under the bandages.
She cries off and on for a good hour straight before finally, around 3:00am, a nurse comes in and gives her a pillow suggesting she put her head down and try to get a bit of sleep.
This sad routine goes on for months. Gwen spends day and night at the hospital sitting with her son. There is no noticeable change in his condition sending Gwen into a great state of despair. Her prayers to an unresponsive, or maybe it's an uncaring God, continue to go unanswered.
Then one night, after having dozed off while curled up next to his bed in the large chair, she has a most extraordinary dream. The dream was so very vivid that upon jerking awake around 6:00 am she is in a state of confusion.
Was that real? she mutters to herself before spotting the neatly clipped black rose laid across her son's bed. At the sight of the single half stemmed black rose the memory of the dream comes flooding back to her.
In her dream, she is being led down a long corridor by Dr. Mutafia, who keeps turning around advising her to go back to the chapel, and pray some more. But Gwen is insistent, "Take me to him. I must bargain for my son's life. I fear it's the only way."
The doctor stops in mid-stride as Gwen, following close behind, nearly collides with her. She turns and looks at her seriously saying in a calm voice, "Praying to the Lord in Heaven is the only way, not this Gwen."
"Prayer and your God have never been kind to me Doctor. Time to try another way. Show me his office."
"NO!! I go no further than this. I refuse to venture any closer to His Domain. His office is the last one on the left. You will recognize it as it has the mark of the beast scratched on the door. Venture fourth at your own peril."
And with that the small brown woman, impeccably dressed in her white doctor's overcoat, turns on her heel and strides purposefully back down the long corridor, her heels clicking hollowly, leaving Gwen all alone.
