November 9, 2006

"The Dayroom" (my version)

My take this time.

I'd rather be somewhere else than here. Then again, I'd rather be here than somewhere else.

Waiting. It's the waiting that's getting to me. Waiting for the unknown. I pray and hope that any news they will give us will be good news. I don't know what to do with myself while waiting though. Strange. Sometimes I think I just need a day - one day - of doing nothing. Now I have the chance to do nothing.

Perhaps I'm not really doing nothing.

I wait. I look at the clock. I look out the window. I see people going about their business. The nurses pass us by, looking and probably thinking what a big group we are, yet saying nothing. Some of them smile. Others say hello. Most go about their own businesses.

I can't even enjoy the view of Manhattan because my mind is elsewhere – thinking of what's happening to my dad, wondering how much pain he's in, praying he'll have a safe and smooth recovery.

It's insane. How can the world go on when we are here waiting with bated breath? I realize the world doesn't begin and end with us.

I hang out with my nieces and spent time together. It took my father – their grandfather – to get hospitalized for us to spend more time together. I hope it doesn't happen that way again.

Many times during the day, it occurred to me how hospitals are places of mixed emotions and significant occasions. Births, illnesses, recoveries, eventually death. I'm not a big fan of hospitals, but it's vital and meaningful to us in more ways than one. It alternately reassures and scares me.

Still, it's better to be here where I can find out what's happening.

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