a staccato beat,
my husband's restless foot,
Rustling paper movements,
Distant phones ringing,
muted chatter.
Nothing distracts
the other patients, and we listen
to Their Great Histories:
the Dallas Cowboys,
Union Pacific,
the Piney Woods.
The old days are calling.
Nobody would like to call a hospital their home, but the stories shared inside can give the rooms a little softer glow.
ReplyDeleteWhile I sit here and wipe tears that you enduring this, I also sit in quiet awe of your writings during this time.
ReplyDeleteYou are a warrior and a fighter.
xo
I have been in this position with both my parents, first with my mom where the hospital and the kidney center where she had dialysis became like home, and with my dad who was in hospital for 2 months following a massive stroke. Before he could ever leave the hospital, he had another which killed him. I really appreciate your comment on my micro story today...because it made me stop and think...wait! Why did she say that? With a little adjustment on the punctuation I was able to get the meaning across I wanted. Thank you so much! Fixed and now makes sense. The idea was that anything could be in the heat duct...a skunk, a raccoon. Only the cat was there. I really owe you one. You are my hero and you rock!! Thanks! ♥
ReplyDeleteProfound.
ReplyDeleteI love the metaphor you've created here, and "Their Great Histories" made me smile.
ReplyDeleteOne of the best reflections you've written, Kathy. Honestly! Heartfelt, creative, and focused what's truly important in life: listening to one another's stories of life.
ReplyDeleteBlessings!