I was at the hospital yesterday. Luckily, I wasn’t sick – I had taken a friend.
We were talking about Baba while I did my usual scanning for anything extraordinary that could pass as gossip. There wasn’t much. The hospital was almost empty.
Behind our bench sat a family that had brought their daughter for delivery. Excitement filled the air. The mother was busy insisting it would be a girl who’ll turn out to be her namesake. The younger woman in a white dress, probably the sister, argued that it would be a boy. She already had two girls and wanted to raise a son. Another woman, likely the best friend, was quiet but smiling, while an older woman — the aunt — cheered everyone on.
Moments later, a man in his mid-thirties walked in. He greeted them, then leaned close and whispered something to the aunt.
The aunt let out a scream — sharp, piercing, the kind that makes your heart stop. Everyone turned. The mother froze, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling.
The aunt only cried. She couldn’t speak. The mother turned to the man. “Tell me what’s wrong!”
He took a deep breath and said quietly, “Jona is dead. He died this morning.”
The mother’s scream followed instantly. The corridor fell silent except for their sobs.
“What happened to my son-in-law?” she cried.
“He came home and said he wanted to rest for two hours because of a headache,” the man explained. “We let him be. After six hours he hadn’t woken up. When we checked, he wasn’t responding. We rushed him to hospital but they confirmed he was gone. He wasn’t even sick. He’d eaten normally.”
The mother broke down again. “How will I tell my daughter? How do I tell her that she’ll leave the maternity ward to see her husband in a coffin?”
Nurses came over trying to comfort them. But no words could help.
“Jona loved my daughter,” the mother kept saying. “He loved all of us. Who will love her now? Who will love their child the way he did? Who will love my daughter the way he did?”
The aunt tried to steady her. “We must be strong,” she whispered.
“He was here yesterday,” the younger sister murmured. “He said we’d see less of him because he’d be with his child all the time. He was so happy. We all were. How could he die just like that?”
Everyone nearby was in tears including us. Especially after learning this was their first child.
“He was here… he was here…” the mother repeated over and over.
“We can’t let Maria suspect anything,” the aunt finally said, wiping her tears. “She must deliver first. We’ll tell her after.”
The mother nodded weakly. “What do we tell her when she asks?”
“Say Jona went home to change clothes after a meeting,” the aunt suggested. “If she asks why he’s not answering, say he lost his phone. That will buy us time until she delivers.”
They wiped their tears as visiting hours drew close. Then they rose and walked to her room, forcing smiles that couldn’t reach their eyes.
Outside, we sat in silence, watching them go.
We couldn’t stop thinking about Maria — how her child would never meet the father who was here just yesterday.
One life beginning, another ending.
In the same breath.