Thursday, March 17, 2016

smoke signals

Last night in my dreams the whole valley was on fire. My dreamscape of SLC in shambles as buildings tumbled down to bricks and dust. I woke early to get away from it.  Curled up on the couch in the silence of a sleeping house to wait out the darkness.

It seems the whole world is sick. Baby J and her parents are somewhere in the monstrous belly of the medical center sleeping in shifts in one of the rooms of the Children's ER.  Baby J sick and on oxygen.

I remember making that same call Conner made to me last night to my own parents. I made it many times over. Standing nervously in the hallways making calls out to the world that was going on as if nothing was wrong- sending tiny smoke signals; echos in the dark. And when I hung up the weight of all the loneliness would set in.

It is joked about that I love going to the ER. Of course, it's not really true. Well, not anymore and now I understand why.  As Conner recounted his father's unshakable hatred of hospitals; his nervous handwashing, and incessant pacing, his jolt for the exit door... I remembered why I loved the hospital so much.  I remembered why I would go there and not want to ever leave.

Get better, Baby J.

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