THe Hospital Room that is not a Hospital Room

This hospital room that is not a hospital room is seeing many unfamiliar faces now, faces that have been absent for a long time. Now is the time to return, this is the only time to return.

This hospital room that is not a hospital room is in reality the living room of my wife's parents' house. I sometimes think of it as a hospital room because my mother who is not my mother, a brave, courageous, and ever-caring woman spends much of her time sitting in a decreasingly comfortable eggplant-coloured armchair as visitors call and visit. She receives her magic pills and juice that are not magic pills nor magic juice in this room. The magic pills and juice are not of magical history but are of doctor's prescriptions to reduce pain and the juice, an over-priced promise of hope for more time. She is not my mother but my mother-in-law, a woman whom I have felt mothered by and cared for and someone whom I care for deeply.

A thief that is not a thief has victimized my mother-in-law and the family as a whole. The thief is not actually a thief, but the unwelcome cancer that has stolen the strength and health of my mother who is not my mother. Her soul will never be stolen, knowing her, I can guarantee that. That is something, you unwelcome thief, that can not be taken.

The phone that is not a phone rings constantly. It is not a phone any longer but an annoyingly loud town-crier decreeing that there is some sort of important message that needs to pierce the ears of those in the hospital room that is not a hospital room. I have never seen or heard such a busy town-crier in my life. Some of the messages he cries are important messages of great emotional comfort, some are cries of sympathy and pity, some are new breakthroughs and strategies to defend against the thief, and then some are pathetic pleas from a marketing service to buy a new Ginsu knife set.

The eggplant chair that is not an eggplant chair is being used constantly. It is the unfortunate throne for one of the most beautiful people in the world. This throne is filled with royal pillows, that are not royal pillows, of various sizes to bring pleasure and relaxation to my mother who is not my mother. They are not royal pillows to the rest of the world but they are to me because they support and bring some comfort to someone who could be considered as royalty in our family. When she smiles from her throne, she beams, she lights up the room and if she were attached to the grid, she could light up a city.