Better & Worse

I just spent 4 hours at Lily's bedside.  Holding her hand.  Holding her arm.  The room was quiet and dark in the middle of the afternoon.  In the shadows, I could see Lily's dad on a chair a few feet from the bed and Lily's mom was lying down on the makeshift floor hospital mattress.  And then Lily.  In her bed.  Her breathing with a nose/face clear mask fogging and defogging.  Her breathing was more labored, again, than yesterday.

Immediately I was sad.  The mother then sat semi-upright and tapped the now open section of her mattress, silently begging me to sit next to her. 

I did.  We were better than the previous few days. It felt good.

I asked about any overnight observations and she pointed her whole open hand at Lily in bed.  As if to say, "just this".  She began to tear up.  And then sob.  No words were spoken.  Within a few minutes, I was magnetically pulled to the her same emotional place.  In total quietness.

A few scenes played in my head, Lily petting a donkey in Africa, us eating sushi at our favorite place in Encino, or just laughing at something on TV. 

I purposely dwelled in each one because they were small. And by looking at each one for some detail I may have glossed over, or saw it in a different way.  A technique I used a lot when I was a tobacco investigator.  Interview a witness for hours.  Never taking notes.  Then quickly dictating bullet points from our head(s). 

And without fail, when we got to the smallest ones, they were more often than not, the most important ones.

Like right now. Again.  That's all I have.