Waiting Room.

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.

Oh, Canada #2

Oh, Canada.
I don’t want to leave you.
It’s too soon. I want more.
I don’t care about cold, or snow, or wintery pictures.
I’m not done loving you yet.

I promise you, I am coming back.
This is not goodbye. This is “see you later, eh!”

Wait for me.

Cold morning.

Steady, soaking, cold rain. 
It takes its coldness from the ice.
That chill is unmistakeable. Inescapable. It burns.
It’s hard to breathe.
I suppose I was a fool to not expect that.
And so the rain continues: I wonder if it will ever stop.
What started as a surprise downpour has become an all-pervading bleakness that feels like it will never end. 
I long for the sunshine; I long for its kiss, the warmth of its touch on my skin, its heat radiating into my soul. 
But it has departed and all that remains is the misery of winter.

I am heading for warmer weather, but part of me will remain frozen in this moment.

I don’t believe that I can ever be the same again.