As my mother enters the second week of being in hospital for breathing and heart issues, my life is lived in a liminal space. A liminal space is that time between the ‘what was’ and the ‘next.’ It is a place of transition, waiting, and not knowing.

I have settled into the routine of going to the hospital and spending the afternoon with my mother. I’m becoming familiar with the dizziness I feel as I get off the elevator on the third floor and turn right towards her room. I have to stop and breathe deeply before making my way down the hall. It’s the not knowing what I will face when I enter the room. Will she be sitting up? Breathing on her own without oxygen? Quietly lying in her silent, conserving energy space?

Once in the room there is that blessed moment of connection when she recognizes me and her face lights up knowing that I am there to spend time with her. I while away the afternoon taking care of her needs which have been whittled down to cleaning her dentures and applying lip balm. I try and bring her news of the world – family stuff and the latest Mr. Trump drama.

Most of the afternoon, however, is spent in quiet. I knit or text the family about her condition while she dozes. And so goes life this January with a deep freeze keeping most sensible people indoors and me tending, waiting, hoping, praying, loving.

Be well and stay warm my friends.