Today’s poem was written 23 years ago as my brother was living with HIV… today, I sit with my dad, in the cardiac unit of our local hospital. My mom is having a procedure. That’s what happens when your parents are close to 80. I hate it. It reminds me of being a kid, waiting for my grandfather to have his heart worked on…. but today is different. My mom’s doctor listened to her when I asked her to make an appt and within three weeks time, we had an assessment, diagnosis, and treatment. So grateful for all that.
But I’m keenly aware of the elderly gentleman sitting across from us, with his older daughter. They, too, wait for their beloved to be out of her procedure. But they’ve gotten phone calls, others doctor’s offices, the word oncologist, hands covering a mouth or shielding eyes. Stone sober glazed glances. “It’s going to be so hard on her.” My heart sinks for them and I’m near tears; not for my mom but for the depth of pain that is palpable in the room.
Whomever you are, dear family, you are not alone. I wish you peace, comfort, and strength. I wish for you sustaining food, deep breaths, restful sleep. I wish for that unfound balm that soothes the most broken of hearts.
Do you do metta on the spot? What do you wish for others who are experiencing unimaginable pain?
Take gentle care.