"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best thing, and no good thing ever dies” -- Andy Dufresne in a letter to Red from the movie Shawshank Redemption
He kept his eyes open. Mustn't close them, he thinks. Close 'em and you're dead. For my daughter. For my five year-old daughter.
He was successful in not sleeping all night, because he knew the moment he closed his droopy eyes, he was as good as dead. The illness was worse now. He needed his results back. He needed to know whether he would live or not. He wants to go home, and tell his daughter a bed time story about princesses and tell her how someday, she would find her own prince charming. He wants to be there at her high school graduation, and tell her how proud he is. He wants to be there at her first heart-break, and go beat up the guy, and bring back home ice-cream to make her feel better. But none of that would happen, he thinks, if the results comes out as a no.
It wasn't until 5 AM that the nurse came in and shook her head. He knew what it meant. He would not be there for his daughter, for a bed time story or her high school graduation. He would never be there. So he hopes that the results were wrong. He hopes that somehow, it got mixed up with some other person.
But hope never seem to be at his side. He had named his daughter Hope, though, for she was his last hope at ever laughing and living again after his wife's death.
It was then his daughter came in, climbing on to the all-too-big chair, and held his rough hand in her small, soft ones.
And then he came to a realization. No matter what life had threw at him, he still didn't give up hope. He would always hold on to that last little string, that last little thread, until it can no longer bear the weight.
He felt calmer then, somehow. Peaceful. I'll see you again, my daughter, my Hope, he thinks, before his eyes drooped close as he slowly slumbered off to sleep, and the last thing he heard was doctors and nurses shouting while the heart monitor went to a dying tone.