May 6, 2005

• Bob stood stoically, staring straight ahead; waiting for the results.  He has been through this same ordeal maybe 30 times in the past, he’s an old hand.  He has developed many coping mechanisms and has a myriad of philosophical nuggets upon which he can lean and maintain resolve.  The phone will ring and the voice will say, “This is Dr….”; and the waiting will be over.  The news will be anticlimactic to the ordeal of waiting.

  
  

   

  
  

  “How you doing?” says a family member

  
  

  “Fine”

  
  

  “You sure?”

  
  

  “Yep”

  
  

   

  
  

  It is just time. Time will pass and Bob stares out the window; time moves so slowly sometimes.  Can I really cope with this again?  How can I make time move faster?  Get busy!  Occupy yourself!  But, I can’t seem to concentrate.  This is hard.

  
  

   

  
  

  Bob feels a hand brush against his and, without looking, he curls his finger lightly into the outstretched finger.  A shoulder brushes slightly against his left shoulder and Bob releases a barely audible sigh, allowing this person to support just the smallest amount of weight.  He can feel the breath of another on the back of his neck and further succumbs to the offered support.  In the glass, Bob can see behind his image the reflection of hundreds of faces, some familiar, some not;  Anjou, Doffie, Jerry, Dave, Skylin, Char, Maurice, Faith, and so many more.  This isn’t so hard.

  • 4:33 pm
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