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***
Louise was trembling as we signed out of the hospital. We walked out into the sun and crossed the parking lot to our car. The hospital was up high on a hill overlooking a valley that led to the Missouri River. Far off in the distance we could see a barge moving slowly on the wide river.
Louise stared out at the view for several minutes. When she didn’t enter the car, I decided to move next to her. I took her hand and held it as we took in the view.
“This isn’t what I planned for us,” she said at last.
I gently squeezed her hand. “It is what it is,” I said, when no other words came to mind.
“I wanted her mind to be brilliant. I wanted her life to be exceptional. I wanted her to find a man to love her – a man like you. I wanted to be a grandmother. I wanted Thanksgivings and Christmas dinners – the house full of grand children and my daughter helping me in the kitchen. I wanted…” She turned to me and frowned. “Perhaps I wanted too much?”
“Maybe you wanted what every woman wants.” I was winging it because I was having trouble reading the woman who had just been expelled by her daughter.
“Do you suppose those women who have it all – who get to watch their children grow, mature and enter the world – do you think they realize how blessed they are?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I would hope so.”
Louise turned and looked at me, then to the hospital behind us. “They should,” she stated flatly. She turned and stared into my eyes. “They really should! They should just stop for a moment and say ‘thank you, God.’”
She opened the car door and climbed inside. We rode home in silence. That is to say, we didn’t speak.