Questions in the Night

It is late, late in the evening and late in a life. I sit here by my dad's hospital bed, someplace I never thought I would be again. The tears come in waves. The thoughts, prayers and Bible verses come and go, haltingly, as I grasp for some comfort, some hope. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and we had talked about it. We knew about the cancer, we talked about hospice, but not about this. Not about a sudden panic, a red face, doctors, ambulances, CPR...the nightmare. I sit here, as a nurse, and know too much. And yet, as a daughter, I don't know enough. I stroke his head, kiss his brow, tell him that I am sorry, tell him it wasn't supposed to be like this. When he wakes, if he wakes, will he forgive me? He never wanted this, not this way.