Now I'm in limbo. My mother told me last night that Nana had a relapse and that the medical staff truly felt there was nothing else they could do. I made her promise to call me as soon as she heard something. No call. I call my sister - she hasn't heard anything, but she has the waiting room phone number. The waiting room has been a week-long wake/redneck party that Momma hates to have to witness, but there's been a steady stream of family camped out in there since Nana was readmitted. Today no one answers the phone in the waiting room. Thanks to HIPAA, I can't call the hospital and get her status, because there's no way to prove who I am over the phone, since I don't have the secret numeric code which will let the front desk know that I'm a family member. I cancelled a trip to visit my son in Atlanta because I don't know what's going on. And the phone in the waiting room just keeps ringing...
On the ride into work this morning I let myself be lost in the foggy mist and enjoyed the last of the snow from this past weekend. It will no doubt be gone soon, soaked into the ground as if it never existed. Snow for me has always held a deeper meaning. I am happiest when it snows, yet I couldn't begin to explain why. So I looked out the window, imagining romantic characters striding across the pure white expanses, and just breathed in the beauty. Snow wraps around the seemingly dead landscape, and whispers promises of rebirth and renewal as it gently cradles the world in its soft, white blanket.
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