Home is Where Your Heart Hangs Out

We've been taking turns sleeping over at Sick Kids. Last night was Linda's turn. Linda had arrived just after nine in the morning, but I decided to hang around as long as I could. I really wanted to be part of the daily meeting with the team of doctors who are taking care of Mark. Finally at about 1 p.m., after sleeping on the bench/bed for a couple of more zzzeees, Doc Christine showed up. She's more like a friend than a doc. We spent 15 minutes reviewing Mark's situation and then she left. It was time for me to head home, or so I thought.

When I walked into the place where we live it felt like walking into a museum. It seemed to be like a special exhibition of how we used to live.

Oh cool, look at that they even have a couple of pieces of junk mail on the floor inside the door. The one facing up is from one of those credit card companies. They make you think you are the only person on the planet who doesn't yet have one of their cards. They believe in you so much that they've even gone ahead and put your name right on a card, your very own (fake) credit card.

As I move through the exhibit everything speaks of who might have lived here but none of it looks completely real. It's very quiet. I wander into the place where they might have hung out together, the place of food. I reach out and pull the door open on the cold box, there's actual food in there. I grab the milk jug, give it a sniff and go to find a glass. It all feels so strangely familiar.

This place is like a near perfect replica of our home, but it's missing something vital. There is no life here, my heart isn't here. When I left the hospital room, I left my heart there. Marky's Room is where his heart is and our home is where our hearts are together. That's it! Home is where your heart hangs out.

It's eight o'clock on Someday morning. I fell asleep in the exhibition. I have to get up, shower and go home.