I'm sitting in the ICU at Northridge Medical Center. Everything's okay with me. My brother-in-law—not so much.
Long story short, he has pancreatitis, and it's suddenly become life-threatening.
He could literally die any second now, and I'm watching this absurd family drama playing out. And from my third-party perspective, it's interesting to hear people arguing about whom he would and wouldn't want here, when really it's who
they want or don't want—selfishness disguised as as selflessness.
One would think that someone on their potential deathbed would be an absolver of petty drama. (And
all drama is petty.)
As I sit here amongst wailing spouses and relatives of others whose future is uncertain (or way more certain, depending on how you look at it), I can't help but notice that the sore throat that seemed so in my face and annoying this morning is now a distant background hum. The work deadline I was rushing to make an hour ago doesn't matter. And I'm happy to be here. Happy to have the health and beauty that is truly rampant in my life.
