Sometimes, there are moments I wish I could take back and do-over. Press life’s Rewind button.
Today, we went to the hospital to get the Boy’s stitches removed (he had minor surgery a few weeks ago and was in for a routine screen). I hate hospitals. Especially urgent care (emergency) rooms. They are creepy. A symbol of pain, heartbreak, stress. I’m one of those people who can walk into a room and instantly feel the emotion of the place. Emergency rooms are not zen, no matter how nicely they’re decorated or how many fun magazines there are on the tables. They make me instantly anxious, so much so that I feel nauseous.
There was a lady in front of us at check-in who was being helped out of a wheelchair. She must have been in her mid thirties and clearly in a lot of pain. Tears rolling down her eyes, she shuffled slowly into a room out of sight. My imagination started running wild with possibilities. What could have happened to her? Why is she here alone? Did someone hurt her? A few minutes later, she was asked to sit in the waiting room across from me (the Boy had gone in to see someone at this point and it was just me and her, with the TV blasting in the background). She looked away, ensuring I wouldn’t see her face and she sat there hunched over, clutching her stomach. I could hear her sobbing.
So much of me wanted to reach out to her and ask what was wrong. I was in agony for her. I could feel her pain from across the bright, lifeless room and I wanted so badly to touch her and give her whatever comfort I could provide. But another part of me feared getting too close. I feared that I was intruding on her privacy, I feared the possibility of being exposed to a world and life much less innocent and different from my own, I feared her pain. My heart was breaking. For her. And because I was so disappointed in myself for my own cowardice.
A few moments later, a nurse came by to give her some medicine and the Boy came out with a happy smile on his face. We could go now. Everything was fine.
Except that it was not.
The moment had passed.
Compassion and love could have been exchanged in that moment, in a time and place when they were needed most, but now the chance will be lost forever. It’s been a few hours now and I am still feeling ill from the experience. Terrible. I couldn’t find the courage to risk my own fears so that I could relieve the pain of another.
Wowza, I am old. Twenty EIGHT?! When did that happen? Clearly I don’t feel 28. Actually, I forgot it was going to be my birthday today and scheduled an evening meeting. It was only after the Boy made me cancel that I realized today wasn’t just any other day. Today is the start of my official, undeniable, unavoidable entrance into my late twenties.
*gasp*
They say that 30 is like the new 20, which means I’d be about 18. Like, oh my god, totally! Like, I’m so done with high school and I’m like SO excited about university! What am I going to put in my dorm room?! And like, oh my gosh, who will my room mate be?! And eeeks, there will be SO many boys!!!
Umm, yeah… NO!
Twenty eight is just fine, thanks.
Actually, the start of my 28th year has been pretty amazing. A virtual hug from Mama. Champagne and raspberries at midnight. The summer in Europe. Abundant love. Happy parents and a happy little brother. A way of living where every morning is bursting with hope. Good health. A learned grace. Blessings that pour in the truckload.
Today I am thankful. I am the most blessed 28 year old there is.
Post-trips, post-move, post-sorting-bank-accounts. And now rest. Rest. Long, languid, sunny afternoons with the curtains open and the breeze wafting in. It is music and tea and biscuits at noon. It is stillness for stillness’ sake. It is weekends wandering aimlessly by the river. It is the near-impossible achievement of finding a quiet peaceful corner in London.
It has been a glorious few days of getting reacquainted with this city. The weather has been perfect, the days have been long. There is time. And though being back here feels like visiting an old friend, being in London and having time is a new experience for me. There was never time. I was running to work, running away… running always. This place is a whole new universe with time.
Afternoon matinees. Sunning in the parks. Picture taking in whole new neighbourhoods. With time, beauty reveals itself in layers. Beyond the noise, the crowds, the exhilarating novelty of all things different, there is a strength of culture here that can’t be found anywhere else and it can pull the rug from under you and take your breath away.
Like this past weekend, during a walk along the South Bank of the river we ran into a humble string band playing beautiful music on the bridge. We watched Brazilian samba in the streets. We perused a used book fair.
It isn’t always a search for something new and different. Sometimes, if you give yourself the time to sit still for a while, sometimes if you give your wings a rest, beauty finds its way to you.
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Before I post about the fabulous weekend we had, I just couldn’t wait to post this. The Mamas were asking how to dance the YMCA. Um…. it’s not self explanatory?
