Breathe. Step outside. Get some fresh air. Let light in.
For the second time in three winters, I was powerfully reminded this month how much I take these truths of well-being for granted. A family member was hospitalized with respiratory illness. Together we were thrust into an alternate reality of dependence on machines and confinement indoors. Two powerful instincts were at odds: maternal and “get out!”
To borrow an old tool from camp counseling days: it was time to play “Thorns and Roses”.
Thorn: A child is suffering and scared. Rose: I am healthy and able to be by her side.
Thorn: I am pent up inside. Rose: There is a beautiful courtyard view out our window.
Thorn: Our family did not get to drive to the snow on the mountain. Rose: That plan was a want more than a need.
Thorn: Plants are not allowed in the hospital. Rose: Kind people bring peace and joy into the room.
While it’s surprisingly simple to adjust expectations when a life is at stake, I also actively infused the situation with light and air. I could:
Breathe deeply despite the indoor, antiseptic air. I am grateful for my therapist’s encouragement to have started a regular breathing practice earlier this year. I had literally avoided such practice out of guilt after our family’s prior extreme illness.
Rejoice in a walk to the parking lot – and step among intricate tree branches while remembering where the car was parked the night before. Sit next to noisy traffic to soak up sun – it still counts as outside.
Spend a glorious half hour in the garden at home, speed-potting overgrown and neglected starts in the fresh air which I – and their roots – craved. I think the boys were running around nearby at the same time. I know they asked me which plants they could eat and not eat.
Find light. I am grateful for the hospital architects who designed windows and angles for sunlight to penetrate an otherwise unnatural environment. When privacy is important in addition to sterility, I appreciate the challenge all the more. I anticipated and then happy-danced in the narrow beam of morning light that snuck over the privacy wall in one room. Our little patient appreciated stickers and cartoons more, but she put up with my antics. I gushed over and later simply breathed with the view of wispy trees and brightening sky available in a different room. I could even, finally, sit comfortably enough to sketch these thoughts.
For the second time in three winters, I am now readjusting to a regular schedule of work and family care, after our immersion into emergency care. All involved are home and healthy – a normal crazy. I am tired from leading classes, juggling tantrums with meal-making, and deciding on the next home repair. I also feel privileged to open the blinds to fill our home with light from all sides, and even open the doors on warm afternoons. On Tuesday I took a step back while hurrying the kids outside for school, because there was still time to appreciate the color of sky reflected in raindrops on the car. And while recent rains have largely assumed my plant-watering job, now it’s time to walk through my garden anyway to breathe the air the plants help to clean. I discover the kids have been at work transplanting poppies and weeding the strawberries. We’ll be OK.
