Icons, Awards and an Untitled Drabble.
She sits and watches as the light fades away, remembering the times that she has seen other light’s fade away, none so vivid as the light fading from the eyes of a child, a child she could not save.
It was not that she did not have the skill, but the will of the child had gone as soon as the first injury had been dealt, the first blow had landed, the first word spoken in anger had hit home the most, killing what innocence was left in the child.
Losing a child is the worst thing any person, doctor or parent, can go through. She thought of the first child she lost every day, ruminating on what she could have done to save it but never finding the answer. It ate her up inside and did not make the loss of the next child any easier on her, or the next, or the next.
Eventually she burned out, day after day going to work, informing parents that there was no hope for their child, it became like autopilot, she learned to show no emotion after the first 10 times telling parents the bad news, she became dead inside, dead to the world around her, her own light died from her eyes, there was no bounce in her step, no sign that the person she was still existed in the body wandering the halls.
Her colleagues noticed, but they where so wrapped up in their own misery’s and private hell’s that they didn’t seem to care.
By the time they did deem to care enough for her, it was too late. They found her body by the graveside of the first child that she lost, staring up into the heavens with a peaceful smile playing on her cold lips.
She watches as the light fades away, marveling at the beauty of the after life and looking for the child, the first child she lost, the one that stayed with her to the very end. Clasped hand in hand with that child, they entered the gates to paradise.
It was not that she did not have the skill, but the will of the child had gone as soon as the first injury had been dealt, the first blow had landed, the first word spoken in anger had hit home the most, killing what innocence was left in the child.
Losing a child is the worst thing any person, doctor or parent, can go through. She thought of the first child she lost every day, ruminating on what she could have done to save it but never finding the answer. It ate her up inside and did not make the loss of the next child any easier on her, or the next, or the next.
Eventually she burned out, day after day going to work, informing parents that there was no hope for their child, it became like autopilot, she learned to show no emotion after the first 10 times telling parents the bad news, she became dead inside, dead to the world around her, her own light died from her eyes, there was no bounce in her step, no sign that the person she was still existed in the body wandering the halls.
Her colleagues noticed, but they where so wrapped up in their own misery’s and private hell’s that they didn’t seem to care.
By the time they did deem to care enough for her, it was too late. They found her body by the graveside of the first child that she lost, staring up into the heavens with a peaceful smile playing on her cold lips.
She watches as the light fades away, marveling at the beauty of the after life and looking for the child, the first child she lost, the one that stayed with her to the very end. Clasped hand in hand with that child, they entered the gates to paradise.