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her name was maggie. (her name wasn't maggie.) she'd been in the hospital for over a week, first with influenza, then pneumonia, then a lung abscess. her mom had been at her bedside, holding her hand, literally the entire time.
after several days, i gave maggie's mom some cash and asked her to go to starbucks and get me some coffee, to take as long as she needed, to get whatever she wanted for herself. i promised i'd hold maggie's hand until she got back.
i left the hospital one morning after overnight call, and when i returned the next day, maggie was gone.
i wrote her mother a letter, letting her know how sorry i was for her loss, how obvious her love for maggie was, how i was sorry i hadn't been there at the end.
i wrote her mother a letter, letting her know how sorry i was for her loss, how obvious her love for maggie was, how i was sorry i hadn't been there at the end.
weeks--months--later, i got a response, hand-written on several pages of tear-stained notebook paper. she thanked me for everything i'd done for maggie. told me how much it had meant when i stayed by maggie's bedside and forced her to take a break.
in the envelope was a picture of maggie from years ago, when she was maybe 18 months old. happy. smiling. alive.
please get your flu shot. for maggie. and for her mom.
please get your flu shot. for maggie. and for her mom.
