When I look back on this time in my life (hopefully with a few kids in tow), it’s the quiet moments I think I’ll remember most acutely.
It’ll be the god-early appointments – sitting alone in the car on a winter’s morning, engine running, waiting for the frost to melt. The weaving through back-streets before Monday’s traffic has started to snarl up and knot the route.
It’ll be the dark rooms with glowing monitors. Looking up as otherworldly blobs billow and pulse on the screen. Peering hard, as if the very secrets to success lie in those monochrome images.
It’ll be the phone calls. Brief ones, to those close – updates as regular and normal as train schedule announcements. And the longer ones, with tears and breaths and the drawn-out silences of understanding.
And it’ll be the hope.
That white noise of hope humming along in the background. So much louder during those quiet moments.
Yes. That’s what I’ll remember most. The quiet moments, and the hope.
Image: thank you