Even though I had hours to work on drawings at the hospital while I waited for news from the surgical team, I couldn’t focus. I called my husband this morning to give him an update on mom’s status and he sounded terrible. I could tell something was wrong. Turned out that his office is struggling financially and implemented a reduction in force today that included him. I lost my job on Friday, and he lost his on the following Tuesday.
I stood there in front of the window near the waiting room staring out at nothing, trembling. Suddenly the cold, linoleum, sick-people-smelling hallway was even colder. I am a worrier by nature. I’d been able to keep the major worrying at bay since Rob had this great job with good pay that he was doing well at. And it wasn’t his fault, and I knew that. I looked out into the endless gray of the bay and saw my art dreams dissipate into the damp, colorless air.
I told him I would get another job right away. He said he didn’t want me to, that he would find something, that I could keep trying to make things happen with my project. I let him know that even if I did go back to work soon I would still keep up with the project, and said those words we all say at times like these- it will be okay- even though we have no idea how we’ll make good on that promise.
Time ticked away, slowly, painfully, and eventually mom was out of anaesthesia and feeling a little better. We left her resting in the hospital overnight. Even though I just wanted to curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep, I headed out with my camera in my hometown. The City Hall where I got the business license for painting murals as a 16-year old loomed, stoic and silent and dark- except for a gorgeous stained glass mosaic. It’s a column of beautiful backlit rainbow colors. I parked and set the camera to its no-flash setting and took a few shots.
I’d like to say that today’s piece, this photograph, symbolizes a lesson I’m trying to learn- that even when it’s dark and gloomy, there are still beautiful, bright bits of light out there if you look for them. The cynical side of me does not share this perspective, but I’m about to drown my sorrows in pie, which is effective in silencing both the optimist and pessimist within me.