Remember your inspirations
Letter to the Editor
As I sit in a hospital waiting room in Cleveland, two words run through my head — "scrub down." Fifteen minutes earlier I read them as I passed through a door on my way to a friend's room. I can remember the context those words were used in, but I can't begin to remember the exact sentence. Maybe it wasn't a sentence. Perhaps it was a statement or a an order. Is there a difference? Now a new series of thoughts enters my head. My attention momentarily turns to the North Carolina/Stanford game on the television, but as the announcer uses the word "bad," my thoughts turn to something my friend's mother said earlier.
Three days earlier, I picked up the phone in my South Carolina condo and attempted to phone my friend in his Cleveland hospital room. His mother answered instead and explained that today was a "bad day." Upon arriving at the hospital this morning, I was greeted by the same mother and the same words. This marks my initiation into the world of the chronically ill, so often characterized by the "good day/bad day" description.
An hour passes and the group of Notre Dame students that has gathered at the hospital settles in for an impromptu mass in the waiting room along with friends and family of the patient — my friend. Throughout mass, I can't stop thinking about "scrub down" and "good day" vs. "bad day." It seems funny that a few random words can dominate my thoughts for a day or even a lifetime. What if they weren't just a few words, but a sentence, or two sentences or a statement (if there's a difference)?
I find myself lost in these thoughts when I notice my friend's mother is speaking. She fights back tears and occasionally pauses to regain her composure as she assures us my friend, if he could see us, would look each one of us in the eyes and tell us he is going to beat this thing. That's the moment — the moment that inspired this letter. The moment that makes life special, in my opinion. The moment that lets us pull back from all the influence society and the surrounding world has on our everyday thoughts and actions.
Sometimes, not that often, someone says something that bears so much weight, it reaches inside of you and touches your heart, so to speak. It might be something a friend says to you, or something you overhear on the bus, or a line spoken in a movie.
It can come from any number of sources at any time. You're never expecting it, but you always notice it. Usually, it comes at a time of much sorrow, but oddly enough, the feeling helps to comfort you.
It's at this moment that you step outside of your body and see the world the way its meant to be seen. You see what's really there — and for that instant nothing is clouded by the feelings of fear, doubt, or shame forced on us by today's society. And in these moments, we find ourselves inspired to do what our heart really wants.
Often, we let this inspiration slip away as the real world slowly creeps back into place. Sometimes, a tiny part of the inspiration remains with us and motivates us to follow our heart along a path we passed up before. Whatever the outcome, we experience a few seconds of what was really intended. My advice to you: Cherish these moments. Remember the inspiration and do your best to realize whatever dreams it inspires.
Back in the Cleveland hospital my friend's mother tells me she's sorry I won't be able to see my friend that day. I tell her it's okay, knowing she doesn't realize the gift she gave me with the words she spoke earlier. I promise her I'll be back soon, to which she replies there will be "good days," and hopefully my next visit will fall on one of them.
I tell her the good days will always outnumber the bad. She smiles, I promise to keep her in my prayers and we say our goodbyes.
As I turn to leave, I start to think about "scrub down" again and remind myself to check the sign when I walk out the door. By the time I reach the door, however, I'm back on the subject of "good days" and "bad days." I'm not so sure today was a bad day …
Matthew Meyer
Senior
Zahm Hall
March 21, 2000
All Viewpoint Stories for Wednesday, March 22, 2000
