hospital bed.

God, I wish I wasn’t kidding when I said I imagined the end of my life alone.

I think I surrounded myself with people who made me feel alone.

I think I was used to it.

So once people who held my hands, who bought me coffee, who answered the phone when I cried, who told me the truth, who held my hands up for me in victory, it became uncharted.

It became safe and unsafe and vulnerable and protected.

It was lovely and warm but teetering on the edge.

I don’t think I’ve ever let myself believe it.

That if I was in a hospital bed, it wouldn’t be by choice.

That if I was in a hospital bed, there would be someone holding my hand. There would be someone singing in my ears. There would be calm and there would be wisdom and there would be joy of letting go. And it would be decades from now.

Because as scary as it is, I am safe. I am not broken or bruised I am held in soft hands with encouragement and love.

I am safe.

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