Shifting Gears

17. I Hate Emotions

We had been out on the balcony longer than I realized. As we made our way back into the main room, Mandy ran up to us.

"The speech is about to start, and we saved you a seat at our table! Where were you?"

I opened my mouth to stutter a response, but Mandy had already rushed off, signaling for us to follow.

I had dropped Greyson's hand abruptly when Mandy approached us, and Greyson didn't seem fazed. But I slid my hand around his upper arm as we weaved between tables, muttering "Excuse me" as we slipped among the crowd.

Jim and Mandy were seated, as were the Jams and another elderly couple I vaguely recognized. It clicked that she was one of the nurses I saw when I would go back into the hospital for check-ups, or when I got piercing headaches that thankfully had stayed away this summer. She gave me a warm smile, which I returned.

Just as Greyson and I sat down, an older gentleman walked up the stage steps to the microphone, tapping it twice like everyone has to do before speaking into a mic, then said, "Ladies and gentleman, we're so glad you are here. Thank you for spending an evening with us and letting us share our thankfulness, and I want to personally—as director of the Hope Children's Hospital—express my gratitude. We are indebted to you, and your donations have changed many lives."

On and on the director went, saying how grateful he was and how much their donations were blessing so many children and how they couldn't be happier to be able to show the donors how grateful they were. It was a plea for more donations, I knew that—but at least this was a for a good cause.

After a while, he finally paused, taking a deep breath. "And now, one of our donors has agreed to speak about how HCH has impacted his family's life—most importantly, his daughter's. Please join me in welcoming Carl Lawson."

A round of applause rang about the room, and I craned my neck and saw movement from the corner table closest to the stage. I recognized my dad standing up, and approaching the steps. My mom was still seated, beaming at my dad as he took to the stage.

My dad shook the director's hand, then stepped in front of the microphone, letting the applause die down before saying, "Thank you—my wife and I are extremely grateful to be here, not only because we love supporting great causes, but because this specific one has made such a monumental impact on our own life."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Almost seven years ago, our daughter was involved in an accident. It was horrific day, I remember it too well. It was a hard time for our family. We weren't sure if we would be able to see our daughter wake up, or be able to give her a hug, or watch her continue to grow, or send her off to college—or even see her smile again." He took another moment, and I bit my lip. I wasn't very emotional about it—but usually whenever I retold the story, it was a small thing, mentioned in passing, an accident I had been in. I didn't hear my parent's side of it often. "We spent agonizing hours and nights at HCH. During our time there, the staff and the doctors were incredibly understanding, empathetic, kind, and compassionate. They kept us calm, encouraged us, and ultimately—they were the reason we got to bring my daughter home, and the reason we get to be with her still today, and the reason we get to see her go off to college and pursue her dreams."

I felt tears form in my own eyes as my dad continued talking about what happened and the blessing the hospital has been to us. I smiled at my dad, glancing over to see my mom wiping her eyes with the napkin. This was the first time it really hit me that I was leaving for college—the first time I fully comprehended that I was moving out of the house, away from my parents. We weren't as close as some friends I knew that considered their parents their best friends, but I still loved them both. They always took care of me.