Just over a year ago, my dad was in the hospital. It's kind of odd to reflect on if I'm honest — it seems like it happened years ago. Luckily, my dad is still here, still with me and my family. This wasn't a guarantee, though, especially during the first 24 hours. I have never in my life prayed so passionately for someone's life, and it brings tears to my eyes to even think about this day. You sit there, basking in pure fear, as thoughts race through your head. For me, there were 10 thoughts that raced through my mind constantly, and I hope by sharing them I can bring whoever has stumbled across this article comfort and the slightest bit of peace.
1. What's going on?
Obviously, the main thing that goes on in a waiting room is waiting. Sometimes, you go hours without answers. Granted, the doctors are doing everything in their power to figure out what's going on. For me, I was kind of waiting by myself since my mom was back there with my dad. She didn't want me to be with them until they knew what exactly is going on, which I can understand. It was hard though, to be left in the dark for quite some time.
2. Why is this happening to them?
I feel like many kids build this concept in their brains that their parents are invincible and nothing could ever happen to them. It's a strong feeling of disbelief and shock when you realize that your parents are human, too. How could someone so strong and so undeserving be put through this?
3. Where's God?
This thought wasn't crossing my mind as much, but I know it's something that many people ask while they're waiting. I had faith that God was right beside me, working a miracle for my dad, which He did. Some people aren't as lucky, though, and that breaks my heart. It's easy to be frustrated and angry with God during the periods of waiting since you feel so weak and confused.
4. I can't just sit here.
Waiting turns into pacing. Pacing turns into thinking through things that you may be able to do to help the person that's in the hospital. Sitting there feels so helpless, so at least by pacing, you can feel somewhat productive.
5. I feel powerless.
There is literally nothing that you can do to control what is happening in that hospital room. I think the only forms of power you can have in that moment are prayer, vulnerability, and hope. Physically, there's nothing you can really do to help them in that moment, and it's exhausting.
6. Why don't we know anything yet?
You'd think by hour five that you'd have more answers, but tests can take a long time to get. Once again, there's a lot of built-up frustration brought to you by ambiguity.
7. What's gonna happen if they don't make it?
What's gonna happen to my family? My mom? My sisters? Our friends? Me? I don't want to know a life without them, in fact, I cannot even fathom it right now. The pure terror begins to set in with this thought, along with heartbreak.
8. Please, let there be a miracle.
Like I said earlier: hope and prayer. I prayed every second I could for a miracle.
9. I wish I could take their pain away.
I would have done anything at this point to take all of my dad's pain away. He's always been there for me through the toughest times, and the last thing he deserves is to be going through this, I wished that I had this power of extreme empathy, where I could place my hand on his heart and bear the pain for him.
10. I can't lose them. I just can't.
This thought tends to be followed by sobs, fear, and exhaustion. A world without them is unfathomable.