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Today I am home sick from work…AGAIN. Since seeing our adorable and very germy neice and nephew on New Year’s, P & I have been fending off all sorts of gross symptoms. Not that that stopped us from running off to Cabo San Lucas last weekend, but I digress.
Called Kaiser last night & had to convince them that death was imminent in order to get an appointment to get a strep throat culture. So that process was annoying. Being made to pay $25 for a 10 minute visit and tiny lab swab was irritating. Carrying my own sample downstairs and waiting for my number (59) to be called (they were at 32 when I got there!) was getting me agitated.
But I looked around at all those poor souls waiting with me, (the place was so packed with people young and old, there were no seats left & I was reminded of a refugee camp)and chose to see the stories being played out.
There was a young couple, probably in their 30’s. Dressed in sweats, brown-haired, no one special. But I could not help but notice how he looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes that made my heart ache. He stroked her hair as he waited with her, and she closed her eyes behind her thick black glasses; and laid her head on that supportive shoulder. Anyone in the world could understand, without a word, that that was intimacy and love at its finest.
How many times have I sought refuge in "my spot" on P’s shoulder/neck?
I am blessed enough to know how it feels to be hacking, sniffly, pale, cranky, crazy-haired, bundled in mismatched sweats w/ glasses on, & make up off - yet still feel love & concern in P’s gaze,& still be welcomed to my spot with open arms.
Crammed into a corner of the waiting area was a young mother playing pattycake, trying to keep her 2 young girls entertained amidst this roomful of sickly ‘ol codgers. The girls bubbled over with giggles and their little hands held an energy some of us can now only distantly recall. Across the way an old woman wearing breathing tubes up her nose was talking quietly with a family member, and they started to laugh. Her shining eyes & big grin had me thinking about the value and spark of life that lives on long after the body begins to decay.
In my line of work, I often bear witness to the cruelty some families inflict upon one another. But I also am lucky enough to bear witness to the blinding powerfullness of love that certian ordinary folks conjure up.
I am actually feeling a lot better today then yesterday. Is it the drugs? The Airborne? The herbs and vitamins I took? Extra sleep? The antibiotics? Time off from my 2.5 jobs?
Partially. But I think I am better because I took some time to breathe, and to see, and to love. To allow myself to be touched and healed, by my mother’s home made chicken soup, by the kumquats she scrubbed one by one in the sink with a little brush for me. By the experience of sitting in a corner drinking tea and feeling sorry for myself while dear P toiled for hour upon hour upon hour upon hour assembling an office desk, chair and setting up the entire computer bundle and DSL access for my mom. By witnessing the warmth & grace that resonates quietly, almost imperceptibly in the mundane lives of myself and those all around.
Many have flung attentions & extravagant trinkets at me when I was dressed up, done up, strong, sharp, and fit. All of that was illusory of love & imitative of intimacy. A sort of trophy-hunting, narcisstic facsimile of authentic affection.
In all the world, there can be not greater treasures than Mommy and Hubby. They cheered me on when I was out there swim/run/biking for Triathlon, and they cheer me on when I am bundled in a useless ball in the bed.
A sick day or two can be miraculous for clearing one’s vision, if one chooses to see.
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