Observations from a hospital visitor...
Watching vulnerability is never more poignant than in a hospital, people being judged only by their condition and not by their status, or their anything in the world.
I listen to the man in the bed next to my mum’s. A man of stature, with an enormous family. Dad, grandad, managing to play the role until they leave, when exhaustion and tiredness hit. Vulnerable with the staff who are there to see to his body, not to care who he is or what he is.
Men, vulnerable men. I am not sure we know how to deal with them, a society born into the patriarchal ‘strength’ of man.
His family don’t know either, their discomfort evident.
My mum. A diagnosis, a thing, a reason for the loss of breath. Something that adds up and explains the mid-walk breaks and the many little things that have brought her here.
Another vulnerable person. Another nod to the inevitable end of life. It happens, or it doesn’t happen.
Will I become an orphan? Who will take me in? Will I take me in, at long last?
The many characters who show up at points of vulnerability. Those at the bedside of their dad, me at the bedside of my mum.
All of us moments away from the one thing that is certain in life.
Death.