I sit here, holding her hand, gently stroking it and softly talking to
her. I know that she knows that I am here, but can't acknowledge the
fact. I brush back the hair that has fallen into her face.
She looks so much like her mother that it's not funny. A.J. inherited my raven black hair, but she got her mother's silver-green eyes. She also got my height, and Kit's figure and features.
One thing about it, she's definitely going to be a beautiful woman when she grows up. I know that most fathers feel that way about their kids, but in my case it happens to be true.
The doctor's here, telling me something about taking her into surgery and putting a couple of steel rods in her back to help support her spine. I step back and lightly kiss A.J. on the forehead, letting her know that I'll be here when she gets out of surgery.
While they wheel her into the operating room, I go to the waiting room and get my dad. We argue for a few minutes about whether we should go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat while they're operating on Audrey, or whether we should just wait.
I wind up winning just by using my logic. In order to get her to keep her strength up, we're going to have to keep ours up. Besides, neither one of us is going to want to leave her side when she gets back.
For the first time in a long time, Dad agreed with me. We go down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. I don't taste any of the sandwich as I eat it; my minds is a couple of floors up in the operating room with my baby girl.
My mind flashes back ten years to a very similar incident. Only then it was a minor operation to close up a kidney of Audrey's that had been split in the accident.
As far as I can remember, I was flat on my back on a hospital bed at the time myself. I remember that Hawk came to visit, and Stretcher and Bree, and even Psyche-Out came. Thomas came almost every day and kept me updated on A.J.'s condition.
My hand automatically reaches for the scar on my arm where I blocked my face as the windshield imploded. I can still hear Kit's choked scream before she died.
I remember leaning over the back of the seat to check on A.J. as the car finally came to a stop. There was never a peep out of her, but I could tell that she was in serious pain.
I looked over at Kit and realized why she wouldn't answer me when I called her name. Her neck was broken; she was dead. It didn't affect me as much then as it did later, when I got out of the hospital.
A.J. was still in the hospital after I got out and she was there about a month longer than I was.
When she finally got out, she still had a lot of therapy to go through, and I made sure that she knew that I would be there for her. I never thought that a toddler, a four year old, would have the kind of determination that A.J. did.
For a while after the accident, we moved in with my dad. It was tough, but I finally understood why he was the way he was. I finally understood why my mother's death affected him so much. I loved Kit just as much as he had loved my mother and when she died it tore him to pieces. Thank God for my uncle and aunts.
She looks so much like her mother that it's not funny. A.J. inherited my raven black hair, but she got her mother's silver-green eyes. She also got my height, and Kit's figure and features.
One thing about it, she's definitely going to be a beautiful woman when she grows up. I know that most fathers feel that way about their kids, but in my case it happens to be true.
The doctor's here, telling me something about taking her into surgery and putting a couple of steel rods in her back to help support her spine. I step back and lightly kiss A.J. on the forehead, letting her know that I'll be here when she gets out of surgery.
While they wheel her into the operating room, I go to the waiting room and get my dad. We argue for a few minutes about whether we should go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat while they're operating on Audrey, or whether we should just wait.
I wind up winning just by using my logic. In order to get her to keep her strength up, we're going to have to keep ours up. Besides, neither one of us is going to want to leave her side when she gets back.
For the first time in a long time, Dad agreed with me. We go down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. I don't taste any of the sandwich as I eat it; my minds is a couple of floors up in the operating room with my baby girl.
My mind flashes back ten years to a very similar incident. Only then it was a minor operation to close up a kidney of Audrey's that had been split in the accident.
As far as I can remember, I was flat on my back on a hospital bed at the time myself. I remember that Hawk came to visit, and Stretcher and Bree, and even Psyche-Out came. Thomas came almost every day and kept me updated on A.J.'s condition.
My hand automatically reaches for the scar on my arm where I blocked my face as the windshield imploded. I can still hear Kit's choked scream before she died.
I remember leaning over the back of the seat to check on A.J. as the car finally came to a stop. There was never a peep out of her, but I could tell that she was in serious pain.
I looked over at Kit and realized why she wouldn't answer me when I called her name. Her neck was broken; she was dead. It didn't affect me as much then as it did later, when I got out of the hospital.
A.J. was still in the hospital after I got out and she was there about a month longer than I was.
When she finally got out, she still had a lot of therapy to go through, and I made sure that she knew that I would be there for her. I never thought that a toddler, a four year old, would have the kind of determination that A.J. did.
For a while after the accident, we moved in with my dad. It was tough, but I finally understood why he was the way he was. I finally understood why my mother's death affected him so much. I loved Kit just as much as he had loved my mother and when she died it tore him to pieces. Thank God for my uncle and aunts.