The Alfred Hospital in Melbourne does some fabulous work in healing and restoring sick and broken bodies. It’s been here since 1871 and still has some beautiful Victorian staircases and hallways.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in the waiting area of the ICU this weekend with family.
It’s one of those places where everyone is truly equal. Grief is impartial: it doesn’t care if you’re rich, or beautiful, or not. None of that matters when you’re on your knees and you’re contemplating a future that is significantly different than you had thought it would be.
There are so many stories here of sadness and brokenness, of fear and loss and sorrow. So many tears.
It’s where people gather for waiting, crying and decision making. The prayers said here are probably more heartfelt and genuine than many of those said in churches on any given Sunday.
I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Not ever.