Butterfly

Bittersweet

Disclaimer: I own no one!

A/N-Small tissue warning!

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"Randy, you haven't slept in days," his mother, Elaine softly scolded. "Give me Savannah and get some sleep." She hated seeing her son like this.

Reluctantly, Randy handed his mother Savannah. She was his last link to Trish and he wanted to keep her in his arms at all times. He was afraid if he left her go, something would happen. He knew it was just paranoia, but he just couldn't shake that feeling.

"Mom?" Randy muttered, setting his head on his rolled up sweatshirt. Elaine glanced up, from Savannah. "If there's any change, will you let me know?"

"Of course,"

Closing his eyes, he dozed fitfully. His dreams were filled with thoughts of Trish.

Trish was in a coma, the result of a car accident. The doctors didn't know if she would survive. If she survived, they told him, the brain damage would be irreversible. All that was keeping her alive at the moment were blood pressure medication and a ventilator.

He didn't know how long he had slept for. He was awoken by the gentle touch of Amy, Trish's best friend. She handed him an envelope.

Half asleep, he looked it over, curious. What was it? Where had Amy gotten it?

"She gave it to me right after she had her will adjusted. She wasn't a pessimist, but she wanted her bases covered, in case she passed before the next time she updated her will,"

Amy's words were a slap in the face. Trish wasn't dead yet! Was the woman mad?

"She's not dead yet," Amy sighed.

"This is the letter if she was in a coma," Amy explained. Shaking violently, he opened it.

Dear Randy,

If you're reading this letter, it means I am in a coma. Of course, Pookie, it'll take more than a coma to bring me down, but you know your wife. I like to be prepared for everything GOOD and BAD.

You're probably reading this, shaking. You're probably in shock that I would be so morbid and pessimistic. Well, get over it, Pookie.

Yes, I know you hate being called Pookie. I don't want you too sad, because I know if you're reading this, you have a lot of stuff on your mind.

Randy, I trust your judgment on life support. If there's even the slightest chance I'll become a vegetable, pull the plug. I don't want to be a vegetable. I want to enjoy life with you and Savannah.

Back to the important stuff. Have you noticed Savannah doesn't look a thing like me? She's pure you! I love the fact she has your eyes. In fact, she's absolutely gorgeous!

I love you,

Love,

Trish

With tears flowing down his face, Randy shook his head. That was just like Trish. He couldn't believe he was holding a letter she had written.

He clenched the letter in his fists. Shaking violently, he began to sob.

Amy eased her arms around him. Randy had shunned anyone who had tried to touch him, until now. Somehow, her touch comforted him.

"Mom?" he murmured, glancing over. His mother was sound asleep and Bob, his father held Savannah. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can I hold her?" he asked. Bob nodded, gently transferring her into Randy's arms. Glancing down, he realized Trish was right. She had his eyes. "Savvy, you look like me, but you have Mommy's spirit," Savannah raised her fists, and cooed.

She was nine weeks old, in the stage between Baby and Newborn. Randy couldn't help but notice she was staying alert more. She was truly a beautiful little girl.

"Dad, what do I do?" Randy murmured. Throughout his entire life, Randy had looked up to his dad. Bob had always seemed invincible, a beacon never moving through the storm. He could only hope he could be that kind of father to Savannah. "She doesn't want to be like that. Yet, the doctor tells me she has a less than one percent chance of coming out of this. What can I do?"

"That's a decision only you can make, Son," Bob whispered. Randy tightly clutched Savannah. Tears hit her head, as she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck. "Think about your wife, and your daughter,"

What was the right decision? What could he do? Should he let her be free?

"Come on, Savvy," he murmured, wandering toward the ICU. He had been afraid to approach her. Now, he realized he had to.

Biting his lip, he slowly entered the room. Savannah sighed sleepily, her head sinking deeper into his neck. He knew she was almost asleep.

Randy glanced toward her still figure. He couldn't help but notice Trish looked like she was sleeping. The only sign that something was wrong was the plastic tubing snaking out from her mouth.

Randy, why the hell did I let you convince me to do this?

Come on, Hon! You're pregnant. You're gorgeous. That's all there is to it.

She hated those pregnancy portraits! He thought. Shaking his head, he realized just two nights ago, she had thanked him for forcing her to take them.

Savvy's first pictures.

It was odd, Randy thought. She had chosen Savannah's name and yet, she was never Savannah, only Savvy. Why had she chosen the name, never to use it? There had to be a reason.

Now, he would never know.

"Trish, I don't know if you can hear me," he murmured, struggling to keep together. "I have to make a tough decision. In fact, I don't know what to do. Your chances for a meaningful recovery are miniscule. You don't want to be kept like this, do you?" He wished she would give him some sign, any sign. "Savvy needs you, and I need you. Yet, I can't keep you in pain, Sweetheart,"

Where did the soul go when the body housed it no longer? He wondered. Was she in the room watching him? Was she the one keep Savannah so calm?

Savannah never stayed quiet with him. It seemed to him that she hated it. Randy knew that wasn't true and yet, the thought lingered in the back of his head.

Cradling Savannah's head in the crook of his arm, he was blown away, by her sleepy smile.

Suddenly, he knew what to do.

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