Shortly isn’t soon enough when the mortality of my child is in question.
“Lost a lot of blood. Broken femur. Ruptured spleen. Broken ribs. Surgery.” He says more, but those are the words I remember.
I’m pleading again. Please let Kai be okay. I’ll do anything. I’ll change. I’ll be the best mother the world has ever seen if you just let my little boy be okay. Please.
As if he can read my desperate thoughts, Seamus says, “He’s a tough kid, Miranda. He’s going to get through this.” Even though he just heard the same news I did, it’s optimistic Seamus putting positive words into action. Willing it to be true. He won’t even allow himself to consider a different outcome.
I felt pain when my grandmother died. It was crushing pain. My world was forever changed, my guiding force was gone. This pain is different. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s worse, it’s so much worse. It feels like pain I won’t be able to recover from. Pain that’s slowly squeezing my heart within a fist, and if this all goes bad it will constrict until it ruptures from the pressure, leaving only mutilated pieces to fall away in an act of defeat.
The pain is also the biggest epiphany I’ve ever had. I love my kids. Because only love could create this kind of reaction within me. Not guilt, but love.
I stand only to kneel in front of them. I take Kira’s hand and rub the side of Rory’s calf. “I’m going to find you both something to eat.” When I look at Seamus’s face it’s blank, he’s checked out and pulled inside to deal with this. Focusing all of his energy and thoughts on Kai. “Can I get you anything?”
The question doesn’t register in his eyes, but he shakes his head.
The wait is hell. I never realized what a formidable opponent time could be. It teams up with my thoughts and drives me to the brink of insanity all within the span of a few hours. It’s a constant battle. One minute I have myself convinced Kai is going to be fine. The next minute I’m cursing the universe that the possibility exists that children can be taken before their parents.
By their parent.
The doctor returns with more news. More words. “Critical condition. Sedated. ICU. Monitor closely. No visitors.”
Though his body still looks alert and determined, the light is still absent from Seamus’s eyes, exhaustion and fear have drained him. “I need to see him,” he pleads. “Please.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. McIntyre. The situation is too unstable at this time to allow visitors.” I can’t see through my tears, but the doctor sounds sadly sympathetic.
Seamus was keeping it together. Not anymore. His eyes are glassy. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, he’s struggling to keep his composure. “He’s my son. Please. He needs to know I’m here. That he’s not alone. I need to see him. I just need to see him to know he’s okay.”
The doctor offers another, “I’m sorry,” before he disappears down the hall to our son.
Seamus hesitates for a minute before he rises and marches down the hall leaning heavily on his cane. I know where he’s going, but I don’t stop him.
The nurses do. “Sir, you can’t go back there. Sir, stop.”
Seamus doesn’t stop and disappears behind a door.
Only to reappear moments later escorted by two males in scrubs.
“He’s my son! I have a fucking right to see him!” His shouting is pain, nothing more. Sadness and fear have grown so great they’ve turned into pain.
The men are holding his arms tightly. They look small flanking his tall frame. “He can’t be back there,” they say to me when I approach. “Get him under control,” one of them adds rudely, as if Seamus is the first person to ever act out under stress in this facility.
I nod. “He’s upset.”
“Upset doesn’t mean you don’t have to follow the rules, ma’am.” He’s laying down the law like Seamus was caught trespassing on private property, there’s no emotion involved. And then he repeats, “Get him under control or I’ll call security and have him removed. Understand?”
I step to him. “Do you have children?”
He shakes his head.
I lower my voice and the barracuda in me comes out. No one is going to fuck with my family today, Seamus included. “Then you have no idea what he’s going through. Don’t be an asshole. I’m not asking you to break rules, but back off and show some goddamn compassion. His son is fighting for his life back there.” I point to the door in a violent manner because punching this guy in the teeth won’t help our situation. “There’s no need to make threats.”
He’s unblinking but unhands Seamus. Words are over. My dirty looks aren’t, my scowl follows them as they retreat behind the door.