Thanks to all who have R&Red. This is a very personal story to me, and I wanted to write it even if no one read it!

Warning: The issues might start to get a little heavy, and it might not be everyone's cup of tea. I hope if you're reading, you'll still enjoy. Thanks!

XXXXXXXXX

I have spent the better part of my adulthood around death. I know what death is. I knew that after the ER doctor stepped helplessly away from my father's body, she had glanced up at the clock to record time of death.

I knew that hospital staff had removed the tubes and wires, washed him, pulled a sheet across him. Then he had been transported downstairs to the hospital morgue.

I knew all this, logically. I thought I knew what to expect, but my heart raced and my mouth had gone dry. I walked toward with trepidation down the eerily quiet hallway in the hospital's basement toward the morgue.

There was a desk clerk outside the door to the morgue. I heard Woody mutter something to him, and it was then I realized that I was gripping Woody's hand, my nails digging into his palm. I let go then and watched as the blood rushed back into his fingertips. He had said nothing.

There was another hushed exchange. The clerk rose from the desk.

"Jordan?" Woody's hand was on my shoulder. "Do you want to go in?"

The young clerk ushered me inside and discreetly stepped back out.

My father was there, lying on table. I walked to him, the heels of my shoe echoing in the vast, near-empty room. He had always seemed larger than life to me. He had always stood head and shoulders above anyone else in the room, but he seemed so small and fragile there.

I found myself thinking it might all be a mistake, that he was really alive and might sit up and jump from the table. I sure I'm not the first person to feel that way, and not the first person to be disappointed.

I somehow expected to feel different. I thought there would some rush of emotion, that I would break down and throw myself across his body. I cried, of course. Quiet, bitter tears, but there were no hysterical sobs. I thought some wisdom would come to me, and I would be filled with peace upon seeing him, but it didn't happen. I felt empty, cold, and alone. And increasingly angry.

I don't know how long I stood there. It could have been ten minutes; it could have been an hour. When I walked back into the hallway, Woody was leaning against the wall with his head down, and I knew he had been crying, too.

The desk clerk had apparently gone off duty and had been replaced by an ancient Franciscan nun. I didn't know they still had nuns at these Catholic hospitals.

She had a beatific smile on her face and handed me a bag. I recognized it as the kind of bag we used at work, and I knew it held my father's belongings.

"If you'll just sign here..." She slid a clipboard and a pen across the desk toward me, and I leaned down to sign.

"It was his time. God needed your father in heaven, dear." She reached her gnarled hand out and placed it on time of mine. I yanked it away.

"I guess God didn't realize I needed him here on earth."

She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "God knows everything. It is all God's will, dear. All God's will."

I slammed the pen down on the table and rose up. Sensing what was coming, Woody placed his hand gently on my forearm.

"Let's go, Jordan..."

I shook him off. "God's will?" I started with barely concealed anger.

Woody tugged again at my arm. "Jordan..."

"God's will? Was it God's will that a drunk driver should plow into my father's car? Is that God had in store for my father?"

The old nun was looking up at me now with wide eyes. I was ready to launch in again when Woody spun me around and pushed me back toward the elevator.

"What was that about, Jordan?"

"Did you hear what she said? How could she sit there and say that complete crap to me?"

"She was just trying to help."

"She wasn't trying to help." I slapped at the elevator buttons with frustration. "She was trying to force feed that b.s. to me. I had enough of that in parochial school."

"Jordan, I know how you're feeling right now..."

"Do you?" I whipped around to face him.

His eyes darkened and his head dropped. "Yes, Jordan. I do," he said simply.

I looked away in shame. I had forgotten about the loss of Woody's own parents. I started to say something, but the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside.

We rode in silence. The doors opened again, and we stepped back out into the chaos of the emergency room. I saw the doctor who had worked on my father. I had met her briefly when we arrived at the hospital earlier. I recognized the look of exhaustion, and I knew she was probably working back-to-back shifts.

I called out to her, "Excuse me, doctor? I have a question for you."

"Of course...."

"The driver who hit my father....can you tell me what happened to him?"

The doctor frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "We treated him for a broken collar bone and some minor lacerations. The police walked him out of here about two hours after he came in."

I could immediately feel the sting of hot tears return to my eyes. I turned to Woody, the corners of my mouth turned up into a bitter smile.

"God's will?" I said with a hiss. He reached out for me, but I had already turned, moving blindly down the hospital corridor.