Friday, October 17, 2014
Looking for a Sign
Just after they celebrated their sixty-second anniversary, my mother died. However, my father continues to believe she is watching out for him.
Actually, I think so, too.
On Monday, my father suffered a stroke, which affected his right side. I sat beside him in the ER all day while he underwent numerous tests.
Directly opposite him, in a direct line of sight, a woman with red hair waited on a gurney for treatment. She was probably in her late fifties. She calmly read a book while the hustle and bustle of a very crowded ER went on about her.
Dad stared at her for a while. "Is that a sign?" he asked.
I knew exactly what he meant, but I shrugged it off.
A little while later, he asked, "Is her hair color real?"
I smiled at that question, but again I shrugged. However, I went searching for the nurse a little while later and passed right by the woman on the gurney. The roots of her hair were not red.
I returned to my father and whispered in his ear. "Her hair is not really red. She uses hair color."
He nodded and smiled. Nevertheless, he still believes it was a sign.
Maybe it was. Just a little bit of hope in the ER is good medicine.