Hospitals are like a buzzing beehive with its hum of noise lingering in the air. People moving about. Always in motion. Yet, in the rooms it can be as still at a painting. Just the silence and the methodical beeps of the monitors. There is a slow moment of time. It’s a weird rhythm of people moving below the floors so high in the air. We were on floor five with a large expansive window below us close enough to see the people moseying about. To see them talking and gesturing to the people beside them. Or alone taking in the sun while they eat their lunch. To see the car lights moving so fast at night or especially in the rain. I can’t help but think where are they going? Who will be there to greet them? What do they do at work? What’s their life like outside these walls? I was interrupted only a few times by the hospital Med flight. The first time it was so loud, the sound unmistakable with the roar of the propellers as it dropped on to the roof. I can still feel the shudder of my heart in pain knowing whomever was in there wasn’t good. Not good. It was an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Heavy. There were also code blues. Emergencies. Bad.
Each night my three children were home being tucked into bed after late soccer practices, homework, and dinners on the run. Day in, day out. My world seemed to stop. But life still goes on. Daddy and Grandma took turns driving back and forth from the hospital to keep the kids world still moving. It was hard. It was hard on all of them. They didn’t know their sister. They only saw her three times in the hospital. 3 times in 29 days and those were in just the first two weeks. They didn’t even get to see her room on the burn unit. They were a world away, moving forward.
It’s not personal, but the way we interact with people can completely change your perspective. The cashier ringing you is just doing a job. The driver ahead of you is trying to get somewhere that walking is to far away for or to slow. The neighbor beside you is living. Be kind. Slow down. Don’t take it personal. Look for the good. What Marley taught me is the things I thought that were most important are just fleeting blips in time. They do not matter. But, a build up of the small details in this life can make you or break you. Choose to be happy and stop wasting it all.
My daughter picks up a puff now with her forefinger and thumb on her left hand. She’s trying hard. Focused. Determined. With one hand only. And I sit here blogging about it, furiously typing with both thumbs on the phone tapping and tapping and tapping away.
Each night my three children were home being tucked into bed after late soccer practices, homework, and dinners on the run. Day in, day out. My world seemed to stop. But life still goes on. Daddy and Grandma took turns driving back and forth from the hospital to keep the kids world still moving. It was hard. It was hard on all of them. They didn’t know their sister. They only saw her three times in the hospital. 3 times in 29 days and those were in just the first two weeks. They didn’t even get to see her room on the burn unit. They were a world away, moving forward.
It’s not personal, but the way we interact with people can completely change your perspective. The cashier ringing you is just doing a job. The driver ahead of you is trying to get somewhere that walking is to far away for or to slow. The neighbor beside you is living. Be kind. Slow down. Don’t take it personal. Look for the good. What Marley taught me is the things I thought that were most important are just fleeting blips in time. They do not matter. But, a build up of the small details in this life can make you or break you. Choose to be happy and stop wasting it all.
My daughter picks up a puff now with her forefinger and thumb on her left hand. She’s trying hard. Focused. Determined. With one hand only. And I sit here blogging about it, furiously typing with both thumbs on the phone tapping and tapping and tapping away.
Comments
Post a Comment