This short story written by Daily Headline writer Carla Grace is based on true events. Read it below.
The nurse told me to go to room 105. My heart was pounding. I opened the door to a stark-looking room. The only noise was the repeated beeping of a heart monitor. She was connected to tubes and wires that made her look like some sort of science experiment.
This wasn’t my little girl. My little Becky laughed and played, so carefree and happy. The girl before me was a motionless shell of a person. I was in too much shock to even cry.
Three months went by, and there was no sign of progress. Everyone around me had started to lose hope. They spoke of Becky like she was already gone.
The doctor told us she didn’t have much time left. We were urged to say our good-byes and to start with funeral preparations.
When the doctor asked if we were religious or if we needed a priest to say our daughter’s last rites, I didn’t have an answer. I was raised Catholic but I abandoned the religion as soon as I reached my teenage years. I never breached the subject of faith with Becky.
But the question about religion sparked a memory. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a prayer card that I had gotten at my father’s funeral a few years back and held the card in my trembling hands.
Although I was far from faithful, I always kept the card with me to remember him. I kept it in my wallet right next to my favorite photo of my baby girl. She was always smiling.
I read over the words from the card and my speeding heart began to slow and I exhaled the biggest sigh.
I began to take slow, calming breaths and I found myself mouthing along to the words on my prayer card: “He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.”
All of the sudden, there was a violent coughing and Becky was gasping for air. Nurses rushed into the room and started shouting in code and fiddling with the machines.
I heard one of the nurses yell, “She’s awake!”
After the doctors had little Becky stabilized, they allowed me to finally visit with her.
She had a strange look on her face that I’d never seen before. She stared ahead, looking almost vacant. But she wore a twisted half-smile on her sheet-white face.
“Mommy?” Becky whispered.
“Yes, darling?” I answered in a shaky voice.
“He told me you’d be here when I woke up.” She replied.
“Who did, baby?” I questioned, perplexed.
She pointed to the prayer card I still had clenched in my fist.
Her little finger touched the face of Jesus as she said, “He did.”
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