I passed by you this morning. In the hospital hallway. I tried to give you a small smile, and I nearly approached you – my name badge in plain sight. Instead, I kept walking as you tried to hide your tear-stained face and walked to a semi-private area to make your cell phone call.

As I turned to look back ahead, my eyes grazed across the clear window to the waiting room. The ICU waiting room. There were about 15 people inside. There were no smiles. Exhaustion unsuccessfully tried to escape the room. My brain filled with diagnoses, and I said a prayerful thanks as I imagined life, suddenly interrupted.

"Watch 6 No1" by Mouse via Flickr

One second. Maybe two. That was all it took. You and 15 others permeated my memory for the rest of the day and into the night. I saw you. I see you. Still. And I am wishing the best for you and yours.