There’s a little garden out back,
It holds so many delights.
There are shrubs and trees,
A couple of small statues too. One is a woman, older and with her hair in a bun. She is sitting cross legged with several birds in her lap. Another of a frog, who is sitting on a log. He holds a mug and is reading a book.
There’s water bubbling over river rocks, which sounds like music if you listen carefully. And a wind chime which sounds magical every time a strong breeze blows through.
This garden stays shady, cool and breezy even on the hottest of days. And it’s so quiet here, with the sound of the water, and birds tweeting.
There are several places to sit. Lots of benches, and tables to eat at or set your coffee on. And a beautiful garden gate that makes me feel like I’m entering a secret space. There are rocks, small and huge. One medium sized rock, sitting up by a brick wall, looks like a tiny monolith.
And flowers, lots of flowers growing wild throughout the space. They are so pretty and calming. Purple, pink, white and yellow. And everywhere, green.
This garden is attached to a lovely little chapel. It has stained glass and deep, soft carpet. It’s dark, cool and peaceful. A small organ graces the space. There are several faiths represented, Christian, Jewish, Muslim and others that reflect the diverse population here. You see…
This lovely chapel is attached to a hospital. And on the third floor of this hospital lies my son, surrounded by equipment, in ICU. No flowers are allowed inside here. Or balloons. Lines and tubes enter him, to help him breathe, for easy access to blood and to deliver food and medicine. It started with pneumonia and just went downhill from there.
His name is Chance and he is a very special boy. He’s still a boy, a baby really, even at 18 years old. His favorite doll lies by his side, waiting for him to wake up.
He’s quite handsome, gentle, patient, usually happy. There are a lot of people who love him, my mother and sisters, his teachers, my husband and other children. We’ve been here for over three weeks and he’s fighting for his life, as are I and all of his nurses and doctors. He doesn’t have a father, never has. It’s just been he and I together for over 18 years. My husband helps a great deal, as well as our daughter and my oldest son. We hope, we cry, we laugh, we pray.
At the end, I sit by myself in the little hospital garden and cry. Oh, my Chance!