Hospital Goodbyes

When a loved one shows up in a hospital bed and the rumors have you believing your loved one may not make it through the week, or maybe even through the night... all the sudden there's at least a few things you want to say or ask that person of interest... or at least say goodbye...

But there's IVs going and machines bubbling and beeping; nurses coming in and out; then there's that loved one's significant other who's almost always in the room... and I wonder if they feel like the whole world is invading on their last moments together. But the whole world wants to come visit and say goodbye too...

And how are you going to ask them these things? Especially when their hooked up on oxygen and barely have a voice? How can you ask when moving at all looks incredibly uncomfortable or painful for them?

And how are you going to break down your walls and open up your heart and tell them these things you want them to know? Will the right moment ever create itself? Will it come across right? Or will it sound silly? And will they understand a thing you said, doped up on drugs like they are?

And then there's that moment when the person of interest is exhausted and you need to leave but you didn't get to say or ask the things you wanted to; walking out that door knowing that there's a chance you'll never get that last chance to ask. To tell.

I suppose most people go through life not really knowing what it is they want to know or tell someone until the final moments are here; and even fewer realize that even if their loved one has a few days or hours... doesn't mean that you can effectively have that conversation - that the opportunity had already passed.

On the flip side, your loved one maybe sitting in the bed, sick and exhausted fretting that they didn't get a chance to finish this or tell someone that; in the moments they're well enough to speak, they are trying to convey their messages and gift special and meaningful things to their loved ones.

And then there's The Waiting. Wait by the bedside or in the lobby. The waiting room. Don't go to work. Don't go to school. You don't want to miss a thing. You don't want to be "living life" when their spirit departs. You want to be nearby. You want every last chance to see them. How long must time wait? A day? Three days? Could it possibly be drawn out two weeks? Longer? I don't dare hope the waiting be short but I also do not wish them prolonged discomfort. Is there a chance they could recover? Maybe even for a short while? To feel well again? Waiting to see can be the only answer to that.

Just Waiting.