Bright Eyes

"How bright her eyes had been." A solitary tear dripped from Mark Fields’ stoic chin onto the lifeless form below. He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as his strength flowed from him with his breath. His hand crept along the silky lining of the casket and fleetingly caressed each peacefully closed eye. With that barest of touches, he was propelled back to the day she had been born, gliding swiftly down the paths of his memory. ***Birth*** "Mark, I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave now," the ob/gyn snapped through his surgical mask.
Mark gripped his wife's hand even harder, refusing the doctor’s command to move. He gazed lovingly yet tenaciously into Diane’s eyes, blocking all nervousness and fear from corrupting his confidence. He continued to stand rock steady by her shoulder at the head of the delivery table. Diane's worried eyes would not let him leave.