But today it is Sunday and the hospital is quiet. No therapists come and go.
I wrote a blog about an empty airport one time. Not sure why but I'm intrigued by empty spaces.
The wide walls and multiple elevators are made for many bodies..
... but feel too many, too wide,
too quiet in the stillness of the weekend.
We expect a hospital to bustle with people.
I roam halls while he sleeps and find new ways to get from point A to point B.
I check out paintings and art on the walls. All in the rare hush of a major trauma center.
Even the helicopters seem to fly less.
But in the deceptive silence, there is the undercurrent of movement toward life—the never-ending insistence on life and the urgent demand for its continuation. Patients still cry out into the dark of night. Their families continue to stand by the door and chew fingernails or speak in hushed tones. There are whispers, "Live, be here, come back. Be yourself."
Friday I took a walk down the street. This is St. James Cathedral, two blocks from the hospital.
Today is Pentecost Sunday. The Easter season is over, a new Wind continues to blow power into the new life won by the resurrection. Power to actually live a life like Jesus.
Although sometimes the Church appears quiet with too wide spaces and not enough activity, but like a hospital on weekends the breathe is always moving. Life is moving through both places, places full of broken people even when it appears that all is quiet.
The quest for life continues. We have our choices as well. We also can move toward healing.
