THE WAY BEING BENDS

9:21 AM

John just gave me a kiss, said “see you in an hour,” and the anesthesiologist wheeled him into the angio-room for his blood brain barrier disruption and chemotherapy. I no sooner arrived in the Family Waiting Room than my cell phone rang with Liz on the other end. She said she had a strong urge to call me and, in fact, I’d been thinking of her as I walked down the hallway. When could I call her, I was wondering. Is she at home? At work? Well, she would be working no matter where her computer was located. “Is everything ok?” she wanted to know—because the urge to call was so strong.

As I walked down that hallway I thought of how many times I’ve done that. One time, from the waiting room I watched Linda take that walk, and for the first time I could see the experience from the outside. I’d watched her stand beside her husband’s bed, keeping vigil until the very last moment before the clinicians say, “Time for the kiss.” I’d watched her bend, as I always bend over John, and then watched her stand and turn and make that walk away.

Surely you know the paradox of all this, the way ones being bends to go two directions at once. The body walks down the hallway, the heart doesn’t move an inch. The soul accompanies the beloved into the angio-room. The spirit hovers there. The cord that connects us grows stronger for the distance.

And Liz calls. She feels it all the way in Minnesota.