Bouquet of Sorrows

Bouquet of Sorrows The days have been strung to weeks and the weeks to a month like pearls are strung in a necklace. My mind is exhausted and my body is drained with all that encompasses the dreaded phrase terminally ill attached to a loved one. As I sensitively walk down the hospital's quiet corridor to my right side I see a small sign that reads chapel. And I am immediately as if by an invisible force drawn toward it. Medicine to my soul I think to myself. Perfect at this late hour of the night it will only be my God and me. I am ready for a heart-to-heart conversation with God and I sigh in relief. Slowly I open the door to the chapel and walk in. I am so ready for questions and answers. Inside the chapel the light is dim but I can see a silhouette of a woman knelt in front of a wooden cross. Even though I can only see her back she seems familiar to me. I feel as if I know her and her story. I stay still not wanting to perturb her praying. Suddenly I am sure; I know her her thoughts her pains and her sorrows. I know it because her thoughts her pains her sorrows they are all whispering to me . . .