Mary Alice Monroe - Skyward

“Okay,” she replied with lackluster, casting a final longing glance at the drink machine.

It was his fault they’d had such a late start, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He’d hoped she might be a little excited by their special outing instead of dragging her feet and complaining. When they reached the doll section, he spread out his arm grandly and said with the enthusiasm of a carnival barker, “Look, Marion! Have you ever seen so many dolls in one place? And you can pick any which one you want for Christmas. Go on! Any one at all.”

Marion let go of his hand and shuffled close to the row of dolls, staring dully at them with her arms dropped to her sides. There was no squeal of delight or so much as an ooh of anticipation.

He sighed and lowered himself to her level. “What’s wrong, honey?”

She shrugged.

“But you said you wanted a doll for Christmas.”

She shook her head no.

“Oh,” he replied, perplexed. Then, regrouping, “Well, that’s okay. You don’t have to get one.”

At least he hadn’t gone out and bought one, he thought to himself. Kids changed their minds all the time, didn’t they? “There are lots of toys here. Games, stuffed animals, sports stuff…Hey, how about a bike?”

She turned to look at him, her eyes forlorn. “Daddy, you know what I want for Christmas.”

On her pale, thin face he saw the yearning of a lonely child. It near broke his heart. Marion wasn’t by nature a whiner or a complainer. In fact, she rarely asked for anything for herself. He wrapped his arm around her and rested her against his knee as he racked his brain for what to say.

“Honey, you know I can’t get you your mama for Christmas. We talked about this. That’s just silly.”

“No, it isn’t silly.” Her lower lip shot out in a pout.

“I know, I’m sorry. Why don’t you pick out a doll that looks like Mama? Won’t that be fine? Look at those over there. They’re very pretty, just like her.”

When she looked up at him with those large, trusting blue eyes, she looked so much like her mother that his heart wrenched. He kissed her tender cheek. “Go on, now.”

With a resigned sigh, Marion turned and looked again at the row of dolls. After some thought, she raised her arm and pointed toward a Barbie doll dressed in a neon pink ball gown littered with colored glitter. Harris thought it was the gaudiest doll on the shelf—and sadly appropriate. Fannie did like bright colors. He shifted his weight and reached for the chosen Barbie doll.

“That’s a fine choice, honey! It’s real pretty. What are you going to call her?” He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t name the doll Fannie after her mother.

Marion scrunched her face in deliberation, then announced, “Lulu.”

He smiled. “Perfect. Now, you stay put and have fun looking at these dolls while I go buy her,” he told her. “Don’t go anywhere. Promise? Daddy’ll be right back. Okay?”

When she nodded he hurried to the checkout line with the Barbie doll in his hands. He wasn’t the only one doing last-minute shopping, but only two checkout registers were open so the lines were long. He took his place, all the while anxiously looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on Marion in the toy aisle. The line seemed to move to the same slow pace of “White Christmas” blaring from the speakers. He longed for the quiet peace of his home in the woods and tapped his fingers on the box. Nearing the counter, he picked through the selections of last-minute Christmas items: decorated sugar cookies, a plush red Christmas stocking filled with candy, a small stuffed reindeer and wrapping paper with ribbon. When at last it was his turn, he set his parcels on the belt, pulled a few bills from the worn leather wallet and gave them to the cashier. He fingered the remaining bills in his wallet, mentally tallying up the bill and figuring the cost of dinner.

It was times like these he wondered if he’d made the right choice to dedicate his life to saving birds. Most biologists connected with wildlife conservation understood from the get-go that the job required long hours and endless dedication. They loved their work, couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but the job took its toll on their personal lives, not to mention their bankbooks. He sighed. Putting his wallet back into his pocket, he knew his answer would be yes.

When he looked up again, he saw a minor commotion over at the toy aisle. A few people were bending over something on the floor.

“Marion!” he blurted out, and took off at a run. He pushed through the small cluster of people to find his daughter lying on the floor ashen-faced with her eyes rolled back, jerking uncontrollably. His heart rate zoomed. Kneeling, he scooped his little girl in his arms and began loosening her hood and jacket with shaky fingers.

“She just fell down, like she fainted!” an elderly woman exclaimed. “I saw her.”

A slight trickle of blood oozed from her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue? He tried to wedge open her mouth but her teeth were clamped tight. His mind fought through a horrifying panic as he tried to diagnose Marion’s problem. Epilepsy? Fever? He felt choked and his hands shook. This wasn’t some hawk or an eagle. This was his daughter and he didn’t know what to do.

He looked up at the wall of onlookers, eyes wild, and shouted, “Will someone call an ambulance?”

Accipiters: The Woodland Darters.Accipiters are agile, determined hunters. Their shorter, rounder wings and long tails are adapted for the quick bursts of speed and weaving through branches and brush needed to hunt other birds. Accipiters include sharp-shinned hawks, Cooper’s hawks and goshawks.

Harris never realized how mere weeks could change an entire life. In less than a month’s time, his hard-won routine was turned upside down. There were times that he could almost hear the gods laughing at his hubris for believing he’d had everything in control.

Still, he was lucky. He knew that, too. Things could always be worse, had been worse.

He stood in the main room of the small Cape Cod house watching his daughter as she lay peacefully on the sofa. She was enveloped in a cocoon of pillows and wrapped in an old yellow-and-brown afghan. Clutched to her chest was the ever-present doll, Gaudy Lulu. Marion’s blue eyes, fringed with pale lashes, stared fixedly at the cartoons on the television. Her wispy blond hair curled behind gently pointed ears that protruded a tad too far. A smattering of faint freckles bloomed over an upturned nose.

To look at her now, she appeared like any other normal five-year-old girl watching television.

But she wasn’t.

Marion had juvenile diabetes.

Diabetes. He still couldn’t reconcile it in his mind. When the doctor had given him the diagnosis that night in the hospital, he’d felt the floor open up to swallow him. He’d stood staring back at the doctor, mouth agape. Of all the possibilities that had spun madly in his worry-crazed mind while pacing in the hospital waiting room, diabetes had never occurred to him. Sure, he knew a little about the disease. Diabetes meant there was too much sugar in the body. People with diabetes needed insulin. But these were adult people, not little children. Not five-year-olds who had never had a serious illness before.

But later, once he began reading about the disease, he recognized all the symptoms that had been there all along if only he’d really paid attention. The excessive thirst, increased urination, weight loss, irritability—they were all warning signs of Type 1 diabetes, the rarest and most severe form of the disease.

That was when the guilt set in. A gnawing, insidious, ever-present self-loathing that he could have let her condition get so bad that her sugar dropped low enough to cause convulsions. He felt like the world’s worst and most pathetic father.