This past week has been frightening at times, as my wife and her mother, were both admitted to the hospital with a serious medical condition. Hospitals by their very nature, aren't places of comfort, although in most cases people do convalesce there from injuries or other illnesses. This week was a fine example of that, as I had conversations with their doctors that caused me to shake inside a bit, and realize how valuable each day is, along with how much I love both of these wonderful people. While they went through the most stress obviously, and a lot of pain, I am glad that they are now home and recovering well. At the same time, there were lessons learned during this experience, as this was the first time I was able to walk around, the places where my son was brought in for the last time.
Tommy passed away in our house, but he was "declared dead" at Fairfax Hospital. This was while I held his hand, and the CPR was stopped. Often I drive by this hospital, and shudder thinking about that horrible night in 2009, and often try to ignore it. Yet this incident forced me to go there, and I walked by the pediatrics ER where all of us cried tears along, with the reality of our little angel being gone took place. As I walked these corridors, I saw plenty of nurses and doctors. I thought about them. What do they feel after these events? How do they get up every day and night, and deal with these situations? They are brave souls, and they have to contend with the throes of pain, right in front of their eyes on a regular basis. They have my admiration, and although I didn't see the social worker that helped us that night, she knows of our love for her.
While I wish I didn't have to return to this hospital in this type of event, I am thankful for it in some ways. Sure, my wife and mother in law suffered, and we are probably going to be switching from the generic food brand to God knows what now. Yet we are lucky. We are blessed. All of us through our various journeys, of this incident, walked out of it with different perspectives. My wife and mother in law, who's a second mom, got a second chance. I gained a new appreciation walking around, looking at folks whom go to work everyday, helping people not only survive but thrive. True I am biased a bit as my Mom is a retired nurse, but this was therapeutic on many levels, being able to walk by the corridors of that awful night, and to look at the artwork painted by school children.
Some days really stink, yet we are blessed. There is always someone who has it worse than you do, and our pain is a shared experience on many levels. Walking by other family members who had loved ones in the hospital, there's no words, but an understanding. Often in the bustle of life away from this building, there isn't, but here it is a weight that is hard to comprehend, unless you are wearing those same shoes. It is a kinship of sorts, and through the quiet prayers in the chapel on site, the various waiting areas, this silence permeates into something that you cannot touch, but you can most certainly feel. The future is unknown, but each day is appreciated, even the ones where everything is upside down. While these are hopefully kept to a minimum, its the good days, that make these ones a bit more bearable.
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