She was crying when I walked in. Her kids were gone. She’d pushed them away for the last time.
The nurse told me how she had been playing them against each other. Manipulating things. Hoping to build the house of cards that never falls.
I saw the ER report. The one where she told the doctor to kiss her ass. She wasn’t happy with her health care (in case you couldn’t tell).
I had to set things right. At least as best as I could.
But we make the beds we lie in.
We live in the world we create. (Or that our grandparents created. We could always blame them. What in the hell were they thinking? Oh, that’s right…they weren’t. They were too busy keeping Hitler from destroying the world.)
We used to have hope. We landed on the moon. Anything was possible.
But there was no oil on the moon. No gold. So no war to fight. No religion to carry. No people to enslave.
We look back to the earth. Hungry eyes. No more trips to the moon for us.
Time is an illusion. Because we never actually seem to have enough of it. It slips through our fingers and drifts into the wind.
Time is a vapor. It cannot be tamed or tempered. It is meaningless.
But this is what we’re given. So we either make something of it or we auction it off to the highest bidder.
Marriage is a sacrament in the Catholic tradition. Family is a core element of the faith. Of all the things to be martyrs for, this one makes the most sense.
I treat sick children. I see the pain in the parents’ eyes. It’s the pain of time slipping away.
A little girl in Nicaragua puts on her Sunday church dress. Her only dress. Lime green, with big puffy shoulders and covered in lace. She walks 3 miles with her father. To come to the clinic. To get Tylenol for a fever. And penicillin for her ear infection.
Time.
We hold on as long as we can.
A little boy is carried into the tin roof clinic. His heart is failing. His abdomen is full of fluid. He is malnourished and weak. We have no real resources for him. We give comfort where we can. (Anointing the sick: another Catholic sacrament).
I’m stopped by a homeless man. Unintelligible. He needs mental health care. He needs a support system. He needs a bath.
He needs someone to take the time.
My friend goes through the rites. Confirmation. Baptism. Confession. He takes the Eucharist. He dies. He walks the hills eternal. He finds his true home.
Time.
I’m in the Emergency Room. A young man is brought in. Found by family, not breathing. We do CPR. He never comes back. I have to make the call.
Time of death, 3:25 pm.
I stare into that abyss. I know it’s coming for me.
But not today.
Today, I’ll hold a bloody axe in my hand and fight the darkness.
I’ll kiss my children on the forehead.
I’ll make them laugh.
I’ll sing silly songs.
Everyday, they’re bigger than they used to be.
But everyday, I have this chance.
Until I blink and it’s gone.
I stare at the MRI scan. I’m with the radiologist. We discuss the case.
I prepare for the worst.
I pray for the best.
Only time will tell.
Be First to Comment