Unscathed

No one escapes this life unscathed

To the mother caring for the sickly child, his eyes will always be the sparkling iridescence of the school boy attending his first day of class.  Although decades have passed and she is nearly eighty years old herself, he is not the middle aged man battling cancer, he is her son.  Some parts of us are so delicate that even the mere threat of storm clouds can send us fleeing to safer climes.  And when the unbreakable lies shattered at the feet of the mourning soul, we realize the frailty of love.  We painstakingly relinquish the promise of dreams.

To the husband lying fetal on the death bed of his beloved, she is not the ancient beguiled by the failings of time.  She is the sorority girl inching tepidly down the sweeping stairs unsure of the blind date that awaits below.  The wrinkles only outline his vision of the porcelain skin from a time long ago.  Souls may be inseparable, but bodies no longer cling with such great avidity.

Happiness is a goal to be strived for, yet pain is a much more reliable bedfellow.  So we wander this earth half heartedly embracing the depths of our inner desires, half petrified of finding what we're looking for.

Sometimes I feel like I stand at a crossroads.  I watch the misery play out around me.  Such strength and such sadness.

As a physician, as a human being, I can't help but feel this burden.

I'm not always sure what to do with it.