As I walk down the long white corridor to the waiting room I
can’t imagine what’s going on I was 9 at the time and I really couldn’t wrap my
head around what was going on. My grandpa had just had a seizure and was in the
hospital and we were there to visit him. At the time he seemed perfectly
healthy after it had happened. But after they released him from the hospital on
the way home he had another one. This was the second one in 2 weeks so this
time the doctors did more test and they came back bad. He had spent 4 years in Iraq
and Afghanistan and had received a head injury not very big at the time. But now
he had fluid in the brain and it wasn’t looking very good. I went up every
weekend to Columbia too see him and I never once left his side I would sleep
eat buy him. Honestly I can still perfectly imagine each of the hospital rooms
he was in and every waiting room I slept in. and the one thing that all of the
rooms and waiting rooms had where pictures of flowers. To this day I can’t
stand being in waiting rooms just because they remind me of my grandpa and his
battle that went on for a year. He was more of a big brother getting in trouble
with me, causing mayhem, and just having fun. I will always miss him and I wish
he was still here.
I can see how you associate these kind of generic pieces of artwork with those that hang in public spaces, and I can understand your discomfort with waiting rooms. One of my last images of my grandpa was of him in a hospital bed, covered up with a thin mint green blanket. This man who had always been tough as nails and such a big part of my life looked so tiny and vulnerable. My other memory of that day is being in the elevator at the hospital crying with my cousins, my sister and my aunts. Gosh, life is hard.
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