God, Why?

When Chad first glimpsed the patient on the bed, he felt relieved. It was not his mother. At least it did not look like his mother. The woman's puffy face was a collage of dark blue, purple, crimson and pasty white. Her head was swathed in a bandage from the surgery. Tubes protruding from her mouth and nose further distorted her face. And her eyes were covered by swollen, bluish-purple lids; they weren't the sparkling green eyes that Chad knew. Chad moved closer to confirm the faint hope that this was someone else's mother, not his.

But his dad's reaction told Chad the truth. He slipped his hand around his wife's pale, limp hand on the sheet and began talking to her softly, lovingly. After a minute, it was Chad's turn. He moved to the bed to stand beside his father. Gazing upon the still form, Chad could finally see a resemblance. The tuft of hair sticking out of the bandage was his mother's color. The shape of her ear and dimpled chin were also familiar. "I don't want it to be you, Mom, but it is you," he admitted silently.

At this moment Chad shed no tears. Another strong emotion was boiling up inside him as he gazed on the near-lifeless body. Chad clenched his jaw to keep the sudden, angry words from blurting out of his mouth: "God, why did You let this happen to my mother?"