The Patience to Wait

The past five days have been a constant reminder of how life used to be with a sick mother in the hospital. My uncle (my mother’s baby brother) has been admitted to the Intensive Care Unit since late Saturday, and I have been taking turns caring for his kids while the “grown ups” take care of the big stuff. In the situation I don’t feel like the adult that am, but rather a mirror image of the 12 year old girl who faced many visits to the ICU and spent sleepless nights in the hospital attempting to avoid the beeping noises of the robotic machines towering over my mother’s hospital bed.

My cousin visited the hospital with me this morning, and once we left the room she told me how good I am in  situations like this. She mentioned that I handled things very well and she would have been completely lost if she had to face it alone. I didn’t really know how to respond. It was a compliment, but it’s not something I’ve worked up to be a professional at. It just…happened.

Spending weeks in the hospital — ICU — whatever it was — I was there for my mother. I would watch the movies she wanted to watch, uncertain if we’d be able to watch the next one. I was on edge and all I could do was be optimistic, because the odds were ever so pessimistic.

My uncle is such a passionate person and seeing him lay in a hospital bed confined to a small space in the world, I break just watching. It was hard to be in there for as long as we were, but I’m a kid anymore and I was able to bring out a little of his humor. Not knowing is the hardest thing for me to deal with. Not sure of the diagnosis, or the outcome really bothers me.

A lot of wishing and hope comes during a time like this. More so than any other time: when the certainty of life and death are undefined and towering robotic machines that are burned into my memory haunt me.

Things happen for a reason — but I don’t have the patience to wait around any longer for this one.

I love his kids and his wife. I couldn’t image my life without not seeing them at least once a week.

That wasn’t the case one year ago. But things have changed and I have grown closer to them. And I’m not about to give up that.

I don’t pray often. But I’ll be damned if I don’t pray for this.

Sending good thoughts and hope.

Love you Ryan. Please please heal. With time. I love you 🙂

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