When Brian falls asleep, draped over the foot of the bed, I take Kate’s scarred hand between both of mine. I trace the ovals of her nails and remember the first time I painted them, when Brian couldn’t believe I’d do that to a one-year-old. Now, twelve years later, I turn over her palm and I wish I knew how to read it, or better yet, how to edit that lifeline.
I pull my chair closer to the hospital bed. “Do you remember the summer we signed you up for camp? And the night before you left, you said you’d change your mind and wanted to stay at home? I told you to get a seat on the left side of the bus, so that when it pulled away, you’d be able to look back and see me there, waiting for you.” I press her hand against her cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. “You get that same seat in Heaven. One where you can watch me, watching you.”
I bury my face in the blankets and tell this daughter of mine how much I loved her. I squeeze her hand one last time.
Only to feel the slightest pulse, the tiniest grasp, the smallest clutch of Kate’s fingers, as she claws her way back to this world.
-sister’s keeper
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