Why can I not help?

I wait and wait.

Nothing

I see her there, hurting:

Me – helpless.

Wrong hands like an idiot in hopes that

this motion will re-engage my self-worth.

Why can I not do anything?

They take her away.

She smiles, I hope not for the last time.

They say that it’s normal.

Normal?

They say it will be fine.

I wait.

I pace.

I sway.

I sicken with each moment.

I sit, stand, sit again.

I wait.

It feels like forever, if feels like an instant.

They say they are ready.

My wife is there.

She does not see me. She can not see me.

I reach for her hand. I squeeze.

She feels nothing.

I tell her it will be alright.

I cannot hear the words as the pass my lips.

She breathes. I squeeze.

Is it done?

They hand me my child, our child, our daughter.

I look at my wife with our children in my arms.

I lay my daughter down, cheek-to-cheek with my wife.

My world has changed.