Every time the nurse comes in to check on me, which is about every half hour or so, she kneels over me in the additude of prayer. I can tell. I can feel it. But I don't know how.
I hear it all. The hushed voices and beeping machines. The occasional caughing fits from sick patients that are so loud you can hear them from one story above. It's the invisible bells of death.
You probably will think I'm insane when I say this, really insane.
But think about this. Someone's just waking up somewhere, right now. And that someone has someone that is happy that they wake up every morning. That they woke up from that surgery. That someone could be you. You could be that person that is just waking up right now. You could be that person that holds their breath every time you see the one you love hurt.
But you also are innately thankful for the life you've been given in that moment, though it is a fleeting moment.
And then there's me.
I wish I'd known this sooner.
I wish I could just wake up.
Maybe I wish I could be you, because then at least I'd be certain of the fact that I'm alive.
But wishes don't always come true.
