I left my internist’s office after an hour of crying and occassionally laughing at the absurdity of my life.
My doctor, who sees both my dad and my husband (he even used to see my former boss!), knows my life. At least he knows it through two of the main men in it. He sits in the corner of the exam room and each visit is part medicine, part counseling session and part comedy routine.
As I laugh through eyes swollen shut from constant tears, he says, “at least you can still laugh…that is good.”
His only perscription for me, was a “healthy dose of love.” Well, that and doubling my anti-despressants.
“Jen, you need support, love, to be hugged, somone who can completely be there for you right now.”
I thought through all my friends. So many have done so much for me. So many who I feel I have had to rely too much on already. Who can I dare to ask even more of?
The only person I felt comfortable asking so much from was my mom.
“That’s the problem Dr. May, that person? She died four months ago.”
He just looked at me, “That makes it even harder.”
Pow. Grief punch. Right to the chest.
After having my blood taken by a student phlebotomist who left me with a huge bruise, I drove straight to Starbucks on Main.
I think some of the nicest people in the world work there. If Dr. May was perscribing love, as crazy as it sounds, I knew I could find a dose of it there along with my iced coffee, venti, light cream, no sugar.
They did not disappoint. Listened to my order. Got it right. Smiled. Talked with me about the day. Wished me a wonderful day like they really meant it and sent me on my way with a smile.
It is in day to day, seemingly mundane moments that we build our lives. The baristas at 40th and Main have no idea how deeply they can impact someone’s life.
Today it was mine.