A few days ago spring broke, the almond trees hinted pink blossoms, I unbuttoned my coat, and untied my scarf. The signs of Spring brought hope. Daffodils and strawberries from Spain graced the the markets.
"Spring is showing its face," I told my friend in the hospital, "Do you want to go outside? It has been nearly six weeks since the sun kissed your face. Come on!"
He shook his head no.
The tail end of winter wagged its tail today.
Dark skies replaced the blue.
Rain glistened the sidewalks, rain drops hung on tree branches, I felt wet with bitterness and cold.
My friend felt no better. His face told me his reality hit. He is in the depths of winter, regardless that spring is at hand. I tried to comfort him, though my words fell short instead I said, "It must feel awful to be where you tried not to be...alive that is."
I wanted to shake him, like I shook my umbrella. How I wish it were so easy to shake free his depression. Instead I sat by his side in silence.
His eyes spoke an unforgiving emptiness were no love, nor compassion felt welcomed.
We sat in his room.
I waited for the next wave to hit his shore.
Certainly an undercurrent stronger than the dark waters present would come, wiping his rocky beach clean.
Isn't that the message of Spring? Isn't life stronger than this? Don't those bulbs underground, the barren fruit branches, the egg waiting to hatch mean anything?
I have to believe that no matter what masks the person, no matter if only a grain of life is seen or not, part of them is aware. That if a person is suffering depression, Alzheimer, in a coma, or on life support underneath it part of them, the true self is present, they feel, hear, our compassion, our love.
Though sadly I had to admit to myself, being present to someone might not change the outcome, but nevertheless give a hand to hold before the next one comes to lead the way.
Suffering alone cannot be an option.
The daffodils bulbs, the barren branch they appear hopeless before being reborn.
I walked back to my car in the rain. Wondering what life was all about. Not seeking answers just feeling the rain soak through me.