October 25, 2004
She didn't Cry
A few weeks ago, I went to the hospital with a friend to visit his father. There are few things that make us more vulnerable than visiting a parent in the hospital. This figure, formerly was perfect in our minds becomes frail and weak. By definition we are reduced to the same and our mortality hits us like a ton of bricks. I cherished the time, and respect him for sharing this with me. He could have just as easily asked me to wait in the lobby, or somewhere else while he stopped by.
After the visit we were scheduled to make a sales call on one of his customers nearby. The customer was still in a meeting, so we killed five minutes by grabbing a coffee and sitting in the courtyard outside the hospital. The area we settled was a smoking section, so he could light up while we drank our coffee.
Sitting inside or outside of a hospital is an excellent place to watch people. Malls
are also prime locations to monitor the human race, and are especially so while one is unemployed, but that is for another time. While we sat I was able to peek into a few peoples lives.
Two orderlies came out. Punk girls, whose individuality was barely contained by their bright pink hospital issued scrubs. The double layer of their conformity made me chuckle as I watched these two burn through cigarette after cigarette. First was the hospital garb, which their friends outside of work would probably mock them about endlessly. Below that was their tenuous grasp on their hardcore roots, while still "getting a real job". Black dyed hair, stretched lobes, tats, piercings and pasty skin made me love them and ponder them at the same time. I love the look, there is nothing better. Although, is it more punk to be punk or not to be punk and be ok with not being part of someone else’s category? Whatever. They were hot, so for now I will let it slide.
Then a husband and wife came out of the hospital. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them, as their sadness bore a hole through me. It was palpable as they walked past. The man was huge, probably a football player in high school although now he was just a broken man. He wore a grey t-shirt and wrinkled shorts with sneakers. No socks. The woman was petite, with light brown hair thrown into a ponytail. Some pieces of hair had escaped the elastic and stuck out in odd places around the crown of her head without notice. She was wearing a grey t-shirt and grey jogging pants. No socks.
When something urgent occurs, socks are one of the first things people are willing to let slide. Think about it. Have you ever had to run out of the house, had a fire drill, taken someone to the hospital. I bet you $5 that socks stayed in the drawer.
The color of their clothes couldn't have been more appropriate. I am sure that they didn't take the time to determine if the wrinkled clothes denoted the right "look and feel" for sorrow, but ironically they did.
He carried a clear plastic bag. Inside the bag was a pair of small shoes, a red t-shirt and blue shorts. When you take someone to the emergency room, and they require urgent attention or admission this is standard. The nurses and orderlies peel or cut off the patient's clothes, empty pockets and remove jewelry. All of this is stuffed into a clear plastic bag and either saved, or handed to the family. The bag is clear so that hospital employees can see everything inside. It's a safety issue. They do a similar thing to employees at some of the larger department stores. The women can only have clear purses so they can make sure nothing 'walk' out of the store.
The size of the clothes meant a kid was inside. She carried a diaper bag, so the kid was little, probably younger than 3 years old. At this point I stopped to think about Trevor. Was he safe? I don’t pray often, but the universe got a few words out of me then.
She sat on the picnic table bench, while he sat on the table itself. They both chain smoked from the same pack. I don’t think that either of them smoked much before this, but that didn’t matter right now. The Marlboro man himself couldn’t step in and question their grief. A few short phone calls were made, after which they sat in silence. He sobbed into his palm the entire time they were out there. She didn’t cry.
I have to assume that the child was still alive, in some kind of intensive care or emergency unit. I can't imagine that they would stay at the hospital if something more dire had happened. Thankfully I haven't had to make that decision, and I hope not to anytime soon.
My thoughts go out to them.
Comments
GREAT post dude.