Sitting in a Black Chair


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I was sitting in that black chair, the one closest to that blue tissue box. The investigator was sitting in the black chair on the other side of the table, and in the chair next to me was my dad.

This is the room where they told me what happened and where they told me that John didn’t make it.

I took this photo earlier this week. It was the first time I had been at the ER since that day. My mom was there getting checked out for a possible medical problem, just as precaution. I was on my way from town to home when I got the message from my dad that mom was at the ER. With little to no detail in dad’s message, I decided to stop and see what was going on.

As soon as I got close to the parking garage entrance I remembered pulling in to the parking garage that morning. I sighed and thought here we go.

I parked and navigated my way inside. I checked in to the visitor’s desk and was told how to get to where my mom was.

On the way there I passed several trauma rooms including the one he was in when we identified him. I wondered, Is that the room where he spent the last moments of his life? We don’t really know if he died before they got him to the hospital or after.

Then I passed the room above.

I paused.

I looked inside.

I remembered.

I reflected.

I took a picture.

When I was ready I walked down the hall to visit my mom.

My mom is fine, as far as we know. She has follow up appointments to be sure what happened to her was indeed or nothing, or if it was something what was it. But God is doing more than one thing at a time. At any given time He’s doing a million an infinite number of things. So while we may find some medical issue that my mom needs to know about and that will be one purpose behind that day in the ER, I believe also that the events of that day were orchestrated by a higher power to bring me to that place as part of my healing process, when the time was right.

I would not have experienced being back in that ER they way I experienced it any other time than this present time. Six months ago it would not have affected me the same way, because where I am now in my grief is a much different place than then. Then, I was still mad.

Now, I’m … less mad. I’m more … something else that it’s a struggle to put words to.

I’m seeking peace and still waters.

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