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Wake Unto Me

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The clock on the wall continues its relentless march, its rhythmic ticking marking the passage of seconds. In the corner, young children play with worn-out toys that have endured years of rough handling. It is a bit unsettling to wonder if these playthings have ever been sanitized since they were first unpacked from their boxes. The rest of the waiting room is small and slightly dingy, wrapped in old wallpaper featuring muted, abstract shapes. Chairs line the perimeter of the room, with a small island of seating clustered in the center. A few remarkably artificial trees are scattered about, a strained attempt to make the sterile space feel more welcoming. Directly across from me, a single, narrow window looks out into the world, while a reception cutout in the wall houses a nurse typing quietly on her keyboard. To the right of her desk stands a heavy, unmarked door. Trying to steady my nerves, I breathe in and out slowly. The mother in the chair beside me glances back and forth between...
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The Smell of Spring

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Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Often enough to wonder why bad people seem to have it so good. Of course, when bad things happen to bad people it feels like it's what they deserve—we don't give it a second thought. But those good eggs in life, when they get cracked, we notice. We want to repair all the cracks and scoop up all the juices and keep it protected. And when they can't be saved, we write posts on Facebook, write in our journals, pour over old photographs and maybe find some old letters…or write a blog post. It still hurts no matter what we do, but hurting isn't always a bad thing. It hurts because it was good, because it mattered. I'm writing this as a way to deal with grief. As an amateur writer, this was the first thing that came to mind.  For privacy reasons, I won’t be using any names other than my own. I want to be respectful to all involved, especially to those we have lost and their loved ones. If you know, you know. If you don't, th...
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