I left for the hospital without turning off the T.V. set.
Miserable, I sat in the waiting room throughout the night and the earlymorning.
Police officers and several detectives strode through the hospital like theyowned the place, questioning the night nurse on Kurt's condition.
He'd been shot twice.
The first bullet had hit him in the arm, shattering the bone.
The second bullet hit him below the hip. Specifically, in the sideof the butt.
It was not a pretty picture. Fortunately, the bullets had missed any major arteries and there wasn't any serious damage. The wounds were bad, he'd be in the hospital for several days, but he was going to live.
He was still unconscious when they let me in to see him.
He was lying in the bed, shirtless, the sheets folded neatly over his chest.His left arm was in a cast and his face delirious from the painkillers.
I set the card and single red rose I'd gotten from the gift shop on the tablebeside him.
"Kurt? Can you hear me?"
No response.
I stroked his bare shoulder with my hand and put my other hand up to my mouth to choke back the tears.
It's funny how we assume people will always be around. We take them forgranted, until we almost lose them. That slap in the face brings us back towhat's important on this earth--our connection to others and the fragilityof that connection.
"You'd better come out of this, Kurt," I whispered. "I don't know if I canhandle you being away from me. I've lost so many people that I've loved inmy life. I don't want to lose another."
I caught my breath when he groaned and opened his eyes.
I leaned over to catch his soft voice as he did his best to talk.
"People you 'loved,' huh?"
