The Window

I remember looking out the window of the PICU room, six stories above a busy downtown street, watching the people walk by, skirting the peripheries of life and death dramas, oblivious to them.

I remember wishing I could be one of them again.

Every time I drive to or by the hospital now, I look up at the window that was C’s room, and I remember that moment and that feeling.

And I say a little prayer for the drama that is happening there now.