I’m sitting in the chair.  The doctor had just walked in, quietly shutting the door behind him. He was a young black doctor, light-medium complexioned.  For some reason, I thought he looked like Tiger Woods.  He had the grim look on his face.

 

“Mister Connors.”

 

I gripped the arm of the chair.  I could hear the wood crack as I pulled it.  “You better not be here to tell me my son is dead.  Take me to see my son!”

 

“Mister Connors, we did all that we could…”

 

“Get out!  Get out!”  I threw my head to the right and to the back smashing my head into the wall.  “He’s not dead!  No!”  I just felt defeated.  The blonde nurse came over holding my head.  I could her say something.  I felt her caress my hair with one hand as she held my head with the other.

 

“Why?!”  I screamed.  “Why my son?”

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