Hospital

I'm walking toward the hospital, a tall, imposing, yet beautiful building, and I'm thinking about all the money it took to build it. I wonder what the purpose is for all the fountains and reflecting pools outside, and all the artwork inside. It all seems pretentious, bragging; is it all necessary? The halls seem endless, and I can't help but think how much this place resembles an airport. A huge drop-off area outside, high ceilings and long, wide halls inside. A people mover could easily fit, and would actually be helpful. There are janitors waxing and polishing the floors and cleaning bathrooms, concierges in their red jackets are everywhere, waiting to help. A grand piano sits up on something like a stage, waiting for someone to play it. I see a friend, a nurse, who is just getting off her shift, and we chat for a few minutes. They buzz us in to the ICU and we walk through a tangle of beeping machines and people and rooms. And he's there in his bed, still the same; stable, but not responding. I do notice that his heart rate goes up when we start to talk, as it did the last time we were there. Is it coincidence, or does he hear us? I think he hears. We talk to him, tell him to get better and that many people are praying for him; that someone is taking care of his dear cat. My husband leaves to find someone to talk to and I prattle on about the nieces and nephews and what they are doing. We hold his hands and rub his arms, which are cool to the touch. We pray over him and my husband tells his brother he loves him. The only sounds are the beeping machines and nurses quietly talking in the hall, and the music on the TV.  All we really wanted to hear  was his voice, but he is silent. And then we leave for the long walk back to the car. Past the artwork and high ceilings with skylights, past the janitors and the piano. A panicked woman runs by, carrying a baby, and I say a prayer for her and for whatever situation she is in. My husband remarks how fragile, yet resilient, how complex, yet simple our bodies are; that sometimes this earthly life seems so futile.  And I am thankful for all the beauty and splendor around me, pretentious or not, as they serve to allow me to process all that I have just seen and heard; to contemplate my husband's words and feelings. The sun is setting and the air is cool as we head for the parking garage, and I hold this dear man's hand.