The Other Side

21 days have passed since Christmas.

So its only mildly asynchronous that I sit staring at a festive stocking. Forest green field with candy cane, cursive “V”’s, in forward and reverse, gifted with Paddy’s Day green bows.

Despite it’s festive inking, it hangs plainly, tacked into the orange-peel textured sheetrock, unfringed and unaccompanied.

The room itself is plain, but serene in its countenance.

Is the stocking the last vestige of a happy memory, the only dream in a barren night-scape reality? Or has it been paired with the nostalgic striped curtains and Naples yellow throw to match the gentle blue color of the walls, telegraphing the contented latticework of the owner’s own disposition?

My patient had had several seizures overnight with confusion, agitation and combative behaviors noted in his post-ictal state. The caregiver's complaints were laced with concern, but unavoidable, undebatable, and unkind was what lay before me.

My patient lays on his left side, stained sheet snaking beneath and around his nearly dressed body. Eyes closed, not pressed, and for that, at least, I’m glad. The twin bed has lost it’s fitted sheet, other articles and accessories in the process of leaving, a violent radiance emanating from his dark corner.

I did my best. He was washed, his room tidied, order found in hopes of a better day.

Resting easier, we shared that space without word. He couldn’t, and I wouldn’t. Care is needed when nourishing a hope.

From my chair I peered across that space, across that gulf, where the light seems to grow, and cheerful possibilities might reside. I am unsure that we will come anywhere close to the peace found just 7 feet across from us, on that other side of the room.