The Definite Article

My father is praying, his voice low and quiet, as he strokes my mother's hair. It's the Baha'i Long Healing Prayer.

My brother and sister sit near them, quiet, listening. Even Liam is quiet, chewing on one of his socks.

It's Christmas.

Earlier today, Liam reached for my mother and cried out and it nearly made my knees buckle. His need for his grandmother was so unburdened, so unencumbered, so pure.

I need my Maman.

My Papa needs his love.

"Toots" he calls her. "Hey, Toots!" He called softly, as she rested after brushing her teeth this morning, a task that yesterday was trivial and today is a Hurculean effort. "How you doin'?"

"Dusty." She said. "I need to call the Hospice Nurse."

Rachael's on her way in. She gets here at eight o'clock tonight.

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