You Are Not Welcome Here

It is a conundrum I carry with me. It infiltrates my thoughts, creeping into every crevice creating ripples of fear that billow around my mind like smoke from a chimney, causing my breath to catch and me to gasp for air.

Which is where the conundrum lies.

Each breath is fear-laden yet, to dissipate fear, I must breathe. Slowly. Deeply. Steadily.

And I don’t want to. Breathe. At least not here, in a hospital where the air fellow humans have expelled could be laden with unwanted guests. Not in this place where my beloved has been resting and healing since New Year’s Day when a winter cold had turned to pneumonia necessitating medical intervention.

My mind scurries around ‘What if…?’ with the slithery adeptness of a fish moving through water.

What if that molecule of air I cannot see is rife with poisonous particles? What if my next breath draws in unwanted viral content eager to attach to my airways, its only mission to spread through my lungs?

What if…? I get infected and don’t know it and give it C.C. and… What if?

I imagine holding my breath. A long time. Like a looonnnnng time. And, even though I know it’s impossible and that in that one breath the undesirable is possible anyway, I catch myself standing outside the sliding doors of the hospital taking a deep, deep breath.

I hold it for as long as I can and exhale.

And take another, letting the power of breathing calm my jagged fears, soothe my worried mind.

And I walk in. Mask in place. Sanitizing my hands at every possible station. Keeping my distance from everyone I meet. As I step onto the elevator and use my elbow to press the button for his floor, I keep my mind busy with thoughts of well-being, chanting silently to myself words I learned years ago in a meditation class, “I walk in beauty now. Beauty lies before me. Beauty lives above me, behind and below me.”

And I walk into my husband’s room, calm of mind, gentle of heart, letting the smile behind my maskt be visible in my eyes. I greet him with a kiss blown from a safe distance and sit down at the edge of his bed for a leisurely visit.

Perhaps my fearless presence will remind this pernicious bacterial visitor who has taken up residence in C.C.s lungs that only love is welcome here.

Only Love.

26 thoughts on “You Are Not Welcome Here

  1. I walk the corridors of fear.
    My mind races – what if?
    My heart pulls me in.
    His smile awaits, I enter.
    All is well, he is better.

    You are one with him, as he is one with you.
    The home beckons, Beaumont is anxious.
    Soon, very soon he will return.
    Til then, take heart.
    We are with you ❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh friend. I felt this so viscerally when my husband was in hospital for days….. dizzied by holding my breath and then breathing to catch up. Oh breathe, friend. Squeezing your hand across the miles and breathing
    deeply for the both of us. Big tall sky air to you and CC – may your lungs be filled with and healed by the sweetest air possible.
    Much grace and peace to you,
    Jennifer

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Each breath is fear-laden yet, to dissipate fear, I must breathe – this drew me in deeply in the realm of your words. It is such true experience I could relate to. Your words ooze with beauty and humility, strength and tenderness. There is so much Love in each particle, molecule and moment around you and in your being. And so yes you get to say what you allow – Only Love.
    And that’s what I wish for you and your husband – love, healing, complete recovery and the beauty of life – now and awaiting – with utmost ease possible.

    Liked by 1 person

Real conversations begin with your comments. Please share your thoughts.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.