In the past two weeks I took my husband to the hospital emergency an unprecedented four times, each time with the promise that it was ‘nothing serious’ and it would ‘resolve on its’ own.’ On the very last visit, I was feeling particularly vulnerable, and just as all of my insecurities started to surface, a little old woman and her daughter came into the waiting room and sat beside us. She had forgotten her hearing aid and was speaking very loudly, so it was impossible not to listen in on their conversation.
She had not eaten in two weeks.
She had not been taking her medication.
She felt scared and alone.
I heard her repeat these things to her daughter over and over again. I’m ashamed to admit that I felt annoyed by her intrusive ways. I didn’t want to be there and I didn’t want to listen to her. More than anything, I wanted her to stop speaking so that I could silence the noise in my own head.
But then I looked up and really saw her face. She had snowy white hair, careful wrinkles and big, beautiful eyes. Her hands were shaking and her petite frame was frail and delicate. I felt guilty for being so ruthless and judgmental.
Behind a curtain we sat and waited. I listened to the doctor tell us that my husband would need to be admitted for more tests, and even though deep down I felt nervous, I remained calm on the surface. In the very next bed, with only a light curtain separating us, was the same little old woman from the waiting room. I listened to her speaking to the nurse in a low voice:
“My husband is 93 years old and he’s in a nursing home now. If he can’t eat, I don’t want to eat either. I’m dying of a broken heart.”
And then, I started to sob. Almost uncontrollably. I looked at my husband, pale and sick and I found myself mouthing the words I know. Her daugther scolded her for being so foolish, but I wanted to draw the curtain back and hold her hands and tell her she would be okay. That I understood.
She was me. And I was her.
The funny thing about life is that we are inclined to think that things will always be just as they are now. We are the young mother trying to settle our crying baby. The teenage girl, broken-hearted and scorned. The college student trying to carve our own path. The little old woman missing our best friend. We have dreams and plans, but we aren’t able to clearly see our lives in any other state other than the present one because the reality is, all we really have is the here and now. And deep down we know that tomorrow’s promise, is really just faith-based optimism.
And I know that sounds bleak and dramatic and rather final, but in moments of uncertainty, you are thrust into a dark place, full of fear and despair and pure anguish. And perhaps it manifests in us the need to imagine the very worst possible scenario in order to protect ourselves from the very thing we are scared of. That, imagining the what ifs will make them manageable and fixable on some level and possibly even…allow us to cope.
Today, as we celebrate our thirteenth wedding anniversary, I am reminded of all the blesings in our lives. I am thankful for today. For this day.
But above all else, I am thankful for good health, and friends and family. For the knowledge that I can be uplifted by my own faith and spirituality. That I can lean on that and never feel abandoned.
My husband is okay by the way. It was in fact something manageable and fixable and for that, I am eternally grateful. I don't know what happened to that little old woman but I will continue to pray that her children will be patient and understanding. That her broken heart will be mended and she will want to live for today. For this day.
a dessert reminiscent of our wedding day
