This door, its metal shines like the sun and it holds a strange power over me. I am afraid of it, but know I need to enter. This past Saturday night, despite my fear, I accompanied my mother to the hospital. The white tile and the smells of old age, sagging skin, and hope hit me in one gradual successive motion. In one corner, an elderly women sat with her husband, her nose bleeding,while he handed tissues to her like an assembly line worker. In another part of the room, a woman, with brown hair and eyeglasses that seem too large for her face, smiled at me, while she held the hand of her son. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me why he was in the hospital. His bald head revealed his truth. We sat toward the back of the room, waiting to be ushered into a room, equipped with technology and hope. One sentence and four and half hours later, we were discharged.
When you are shoved out of your ordinary routine, you realize how valuable it is to engage in wholly mundane moments like when you are grocery shopping, picking up your kids from school, or paying bills. Spending time at a hospital for any period of time is my quick reminder not to only participate in routine, but to engage and honor what appears to be so disposable.
And I got another reminder of cherishing the ordinary, in the form of another door, this time it was a door I tried to exit but couldn’t. My blue car was parked at a red light, my foot anticipating green as it braced the accelerator. In what seemed like a millisecond moment, a white truck barrelled into my car,my hood curving in like a burritto. A giant thud and I felt my body doing the wave, involuntarily, as my back slammed against my car seat. I froze, not knowing what happened or how to react. My immediate instinct prompted me to reach for the door, but it was stuck, the impact of the hit, paralyzed the hinges where it opened. I was stuck, not able to exit, the door becoming my burden.
For a single minute, the chaos of the last 16 hours overwhelmed me. My eyes glazed over trying to pry open my car door, the click click of pulling the handle rung in my ears. In the periphery, people passed by, honked, gave me dirty looks, even though my car looked like a piece of abstract art in the middle of the road. One woman, her mini-van christened with kids, stopped, asked me how I was doing and called the police. With the help of a police officer, my door opened, the metal mangled, but intact.
My feet grazed a final metal door this weekend, the smell of a stale sandwich, grease and a water cooler filled the air of the tow truck.The gentleman offered to tow my car home, while I accompanied him in the truck. He talked about his days in the army, how he had two children and eight grandchildren, and how his wife was born and raised in Arizona.
While he talked, I nodded, bearing witness to his ordinary moments, as I stared at my reflection on the truck door. I stepped off the truck as we approached my house, knowing that it isn’t the entries and the exits that are significant, but it is what is sandwiched in between, the moments leading up to stepping in and out of all of those doors.
Image by iMorpheus
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Wow. Just wow. First of all I’m glad you are okay. What a day you must have had. But this post Rudri-Breathtaking! My goodness. All of it. I’m kind of speecheless.
This gave me chills: “…knowing that it isn’t the entries and the exits that are significant, but it is what is sandwiched in between, the moments leading up to stepping in and out of all of those doors.”
So glad you’re okay and I’m sorry you had one hell of a 24 hours.
Holy cow! I am so glad you are okay! I’m also amazed that you got enough distance from the event to write about it with such eloquence–I felt like I was there with you.
Wow! Glad you’re ok. Intense moments like these really make us think and be grateful for the ordinary don’t they? I wish we were always more cognizant of the significance in the seemingly insignificant, but in our harried lives, sometimes it’s a feat just to take a deep breath. Thank you for this reminder. And I have to say, this is a gorgeous piece of writing.
Rudri,
I am glad I spoke to your before I read your blog today because I was able to hear your voice and know that you seem to be feeling better after such a horrific ordeal. The poignancy of your expression truly brought me home to the extraordinary of the ordinary, reminding me how much I take for granted. Another resolution – no more lamentations! Thank you for the reminder and many wishes for your good health and well-being.
Trish
Rudri, I am so happy that only your door got smashed and you will mend. Life is fleeting, and we only have moments. Thanks for your thought- provoking blog.
You had a little too much “life appreciation” jammed into a very short time. Thankfully, you are okay. Unfortunately, these moments sometimes stay with us for awhile. They serve a purpose. The sharpness will fade but the message remains. And you already know what that is. Cherish everything you can, while you can. Essentials.
Youch! I’m so glad you’re okay. While I don’t enjoy reminders of what’s important and how fleeting those things are (family, health, etc), the aftermath always pushes me to soak it all in and appreciate all those sandwiched moments.
Fleeting and temporary, like our comings and goings. Glad you are okay, my friend. Thank you for sharing your experience. I felt its intensity in your eloquent post. Be well.
I am so glad you are ok. You have such a beautiful perspective on life.
Rudri, I’m glad you are ok, what an ordeal! “knowing that it isn’t the entries and the exits that are significant, but it is what is sandwiched in between” – that my deara friend is finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments, and how beautifully articulated. Rudri, you are a born writer…you have certain instincts and insights that few know how to verbalize. I am in awe of your talent.
Rudri, I am so glad you’re okay and am really amazed that you’ve written about this traumatic time so eloquently. It’s wonderful that you’ve been given such a gift with words–which is so helpful in helping us process both the good and bad stuff that life offers up. Thank you for allowing us to walk through this life collision with you.
My Goodness!!! I am glad to know that you are ok. I hope your mom is doing better as well.
Wow, Rudri. First, I am so glad you’re okay. I’m sure it was very scary.
This was such beautiful writing. And within it, such truth. Thank you for sharing.
What an incredibly scary moment but so glad u are ok.
Such a poetic, thoughtful, beautifully written piece for something so scary and life changing. Hugs. So glad all is well now.
First, I’m glad you’re okay!
What a gorgeous piece you’ve written!
In anthropology, we called all those big transitions liminal moments, those moments hen you stand on the threshold neither here nor there. While those metaphorical doorways can be important, the essential living is in the middle.
Oh, Rudri! I hope your mom’s okay. And your car. And your soul. What a tough day, with tough realizations to go along with it.
Ru – thank God you are okay and was not injured in that hit! And I hope your Mom is okay too and the hospital visit was just a routine check-up.
Dropping by from SITS and found this post so poetic. I am almost speechless….
Anne,
Thanks for such a generous compliment. Glad the post resonated with you.
So true. I love your writing.
Welcome Tara!
Thanks so much for visiting. Appreciate your words of encouragement.
So sorry that happened to you! I’m glad you are okay. Yes, hospital visits are never fun.
Happy SITS Day!
Welcome Cheryl!
Hospital visits are something I loathe. Not only because of the obvious, but it reminds me of the dark days of my father’s illness.
Thanks for you visiting and appreciate your well wishes.
I’ve come upon your blog from SITS and first off, I am so glad that you are OK. Second, you are an AMAZING writer. This post is so beautiful and haunting and captures so much in a few short paragraphs – so many complicated thoughts and emotions that I can’t even begin to describe. Thank you for sharing this.
Welcome Christine!
Thanks for reading and for the gracious comment on my writing. I am so grateful the post resonated with you.
You are an extraordinary woman ~ observer of life.
Patricia,
Thanks so much. Not sure how extraordinary I am, but I appreciate the sentiment. Thanks for visiting and I appreciate your generous compliment.
Such a tough day for you! I’m sorry about it but I love your outlook and words about it. You write with ease.
Welcome Krystle!
Thanks so much for visiting. My writing definitely helps my outlook. I can channel my emotions into words and strive to reach some place where I can process the multitude of feelings that are churning inside of me.
I appreciate your words.
You, Rudri, I admire. I admire you not only for being chosen as a SITS FB, but also for your ability to be present. It might seem kind of trite or even kind of silly to you, but believe me – it’s such a gift to be able to remember, and express what you remember. And you do it so beautifully, and effortlessly… or, at least it seems.
Your daughter is adorable. Your insight is awesome. And, your ability as a writer is truly something to behold. I say, you have a book in you. I wonder when you’ll write it.
Welcome Carlo!
Trying to be present is something I work at everyday. Writing about it helps keep reminding me of what I want to retrieve and give to this life.
Thanks so much for your gracious and generous compliment. I am grateful that my post resonated so much with you. Glad you had the opportunity to peruse some of my work.