There is Always Hope

The hospital room where my twenty-six-year-old daughter lay against snowy sheets grew quiet as a tomb. Her husband sat next to her. He leaned his back against the wall, holding her hand, which was covered with bandages. Tubes pulled at her pale skin. His thumb caressed her palm back and forth, back and forth.

Each word dropped into the stillness like falling glass, slowing time and punctuating it. No hope…

Read the Article at The Glorious Table