2 "Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and broken hallelujah."

Day Two -

January 21

Cousin Gloria and I were born on the same morning. Father received the call from his brother, Frank, "We had a girl!"

His heart pumped a little faster as he responded, "So did we!"

Years later he confessed that in his 1951 desire to have a son, he was relieved to find out Frank had a girl too--he didn't beat father to it, at least not that morning.

His long awaited son, Steven, arrived five years later.

In his pink recliner last night, father pondered, "I've always believed God would heal me completely. But, who am I to tell God what to do? If it isn't his will to heal me, then I would really like to have a sign, a word from God so I will know. Wouldn't it be great, Cher, if we received a sign this week while you're here visiting?"

I have not seen Gloria in forty-three years. Our parents used to send us to the same church camp where she always found a boyfriend and I always longed for one. One summer, on the last night of camp, I didn't have a date for the closing banquet. Gloria and her boyfriend fixed me up with Billy Venezie, so I wouldn't have to go alone.

On the morning of father's funeral, Gloria takes my hands in hers and prays for God to give me peace. I walk onto the stage with a heart full of things to say about father. I read one of his favorite poems, Longfellow's, "A Psalm of Life."

But I've jumped ahead! This is only the second day.

Dialysis goes terribly wrong today.

I've jumped ahead because I can't look the plummeting-hope-of-the-second-day in the eye, when Steven and I run out of ideas, and father's favorite take-out Olive Garden salad is left unopened.

Without admitting it, a part of me knows his heart can not beat much longer.