I don't know how many tears I've shed. I don't know how many moments I've been readied to say goodbye. I don't know how many times I've told God to take me instead.
Her small frame was barely visible among the tubes and hospital machines. Her golden halo had been replaced by baldness and blood. But her smile was still so radiant.
"Momma," a small voice broke throughout my thoughts. Her hand gripped my finger. "Are you okay?"
I looked away to wipe my eyes. A child shouldn't have to see her mother's tears. "I'm fine, honey. Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah," she grinned. "Can we go to the playroom today, please? Anna wants to play house, she said I could be mom."
Girls, I thought. "We'll see what the Doctor says." As if on cue our conversation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
"Hello," a dark haired man peeked into the room. "How's my favorite patient today, Emily?"
Two thumbs appeared from underneath the hospital bed covers. The doctor laughed. "The usual I see. By the way did I hear something about the playroom?"
Emily's eyes light up. "Can I go please? I've been a good girl, just ask my momma."
His eyes glanced over in my direction. I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. He stepped out of the room and appeared moments later with a nurse and a wheelchair.
"Your chariot is ready little lady, " he smiled. She squealed with delight as the nurse helped her to settle in the wheelchair. "Are you coming momma?"
I shook my head. "I need to speak with Dr. Baines first. But I'll be there as soon as I can, promise."
She nodded, poked the nurse and pointed to the door. I watched as she headed down the hall. "She doesn't have long does she," I asked.
"Unfortunately, she doesn't, " Dr. Baines cringed. "She hasn't responded well to any of the treatments. The cancer is just spreading too quickly."
God, no. How could you? She's only a little girl. A four year old girl. Doesn't this matter to you, doesn't she matter to you? This isn't fair, it isn't fair.
"Best case is a few weeks, " the doctor continued. "Honestly she only has a few days." He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Again I am so sorry Ms. Davis."
My knees fell out from underneath me. My fists pounded the bare concrete floor. God, why. Why can't you save her? You raised people from the dead, made blind men see, fed five thousand people. I am just asking once. Please. Don't let her die. She's my child. I love her so much. Lord.
No answer, just silence. I tried to pray let your will, not mine be done Lord. I tried so hard to trust that you knew what was best for Emily. But it's so hard to let it go, to let her go.
I was filled with peace, I knew my daughter was in God's hands. I sighed and wiped my tears, "Thank you, Lord."
The next few passing days became moments of blur. Emily's condition began deteriorating until she was finally moved to Intensive Care Unit. I cried because I couldn't recognize my daughter anymore. But she still provided the strength and hope that we needed.
"It'll be okay, momma," she whispered. "I am going to be with Jesus soon."
I gently gripped her hand." I just don't to lose you Emily. You're my little girl."
She pondered a moment, "But momma didn't God lose his child too."
I gasped. Jesus. God did lose him to death, to us. God knew what I was going through, he knew how much it hurt to lose a child. Emily comprehended in just a few short years what I was still learning. It's funny how our children can be the greatest teachers in life, love and even faith. Thank you for the reminder, Lord.
"I love you, momma," my daughter smiled. I leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I love you too, Emily."
The world silenced as my daughter feel into a peaceful sleep. Tonight she would go home to be with Jesus. I would glance at the star filled sky knowing a borrowed angel had been returned.
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