There’s a time like this when I am missing my laptop. If I have it still, I would like to sit here, on the deck and tap away my melancholy. I would watch each black letter march across the screen, forming words and thoughts. No matter. I will make do with my pen scribbling across the page. I’ll tap later.
I am sitting here in the late afternoon. I am comforted by its warmth surrounding me. My Purple Wave petunias greet me each time I look up from the page. I hear the children laughing from the daycare near by. Sheba sits at my feet. I sip my tea. Traffic rumbles from the front street. The neighbour’s voice rasps her words. A jet flies overhead. I am in the midst of life.
Some announcements can knock the socks off your feet. They bring tears to your eyes. I am still stunned and disturbed over this death announcement. Why am I feeling like this? This business of life and death is well known to both of us. And sad news is no stranger. Still, it is hard for me to accept.
I knew her when she was a young intern and I, a wet-behind-the-ears nurse. I remember-ed an incident when I called a Code Blue. She and the crash cart arrived at the same time. I could not remember if the patient lived or died.
I knew her, but not well at all. I had not known that she was ill. Oh, the speed of it, the speed of mortality, of bad news! It was like a thunderbolt. It left me vulnerable, unprotected and unprepared – unwilling to face it straight on.
I scribble and erase cross out, scribble some more. My pen moves across the page. Birds chirp back and forth. Traffic is whooshing by on Preston Avenue. The sun shines on. I am finished my tea.
