Backstory:
The poem (below) is inspired by the night I spent at Lakeland Regional Medical Center with Hannah. Around 9:30 PM, she texted and said,
“Mom, I need you.”
“I’m in so much pain.”
“I’m scared.”
I jumped up from the couch, and immediately knew I needed to go to her. I was exhausted from two elementary orientations I had earlier that day (it was the beginning of the school year and the Friday before the first day of school). My husband loaded the car with a pillow and blanket, telling me I would need to spend the night for my safety. He also advised I make myself a cup of coffee for the hour drive, as my eyes were already struggling to stay open. Jaxon, my little boy, was already asleep in his bed, and it didn’t make sense for us all to go, especially with how much pain she was in. I remember the fear I felt during that drive. I knew my daughter was a tough cookie, and it had to be severe for her to tell me she needed me.
My daughter’s father and I had a pretty rough history of communication. It had become, essentially non-existent, over the last five years or so. Non of that seemed to matter in this moment. I called our 19 year old son, pleading with him to contact his father to let him know something wasn’t right. I needed him to drop whatever he was doing to go be with her (as he was right there in the same city as the hospital she had been admitted to).
Thankfully, he was able to get there quickly, and was updating me via text on the drive. Things were pretty bad when he arrived. He could hear our daughter from down the hallway, screaming and dry heaving. It was so bad, they ended up moving her to a private room, so she didn’t disturb a roommate.
When I arrived, Hannah’s dad was there and things had calmed down. We had our very first cordial conversation in a long time, and he left as I planned to stay the night. For those of you who have ever slept in a hospital chair, you know of the lasting muscle pain you will carry for weeks after.
For me, this pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain I would suffer. I had no idea this night would be the last I would every spend with my precious daughter.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Chair
A constant ache in my neck, I must wear
From the night I spent in the hospital chair.
The last night I spent with my girl,
Rushing to get there, brain in a whirl,
How many more days,
Must her weakened body lay?
Riddled with worry, thinking something’s not right,
Exhausted with frustration, knowing she’s weary of the fight.
“I’m here sweet girl, and will stay in this chair.”
“Mom, I’m tired of feeling like this. Do they even care?”
Mood shifting from high to low,
How long in the valley, no one would know.
Telling my daughter how much I truly care,
Trusting God, while sitting in the chair.
Praying for healing and feeling alone,
Not knowing His plan was to bring her home.
I asked God for healing, He took her pain away,
My baby girl now in Heaven, my sorrow to stay.
The ache from my neck has moved to my heart,
There it has stayed the moment we did part.
Now the sorrow is deep that I’m left to bare,
A piece of me remains in that hospital chair.
August 8-9, 2025 (the night in the chair)
August 12,2025 (Hannah received complete and total healing)
*Forever 21 
