Dear Girl in the Waiting Room

Yesterday I took my mom to a doctor’s appointment and I saw you sitting in the waiting room. We both had our masks on and we both listened as the door opened and closed with nurses calling name after name of someone else who had one reason or another to start their week at the doctor.

When they called my mom’s name, I put an AirPod in and started listening to music. I wished I’d brought my Kindle, but I settled for a halfhearted scroll through social media. The office phone rang. A sneaker squeaked in the hallway. Patients shuffled in and out and suddenly it was just you and me, sitting a few rows apart, waiting.

Unlike me, you didn’t have your phone in your hand. In fact, your hands sat purposefully in your lap, fingers folded into each other, a medical bracelet around your wrist. Your hair was straightened, and your eyeliner looked not only practiced but perfected. Your elbow tucked your purse into your side and your eyes stayed glued on the ground. You were focused. Serious. Maybe even nervous.

Maybe you were there for a routine x-ray. Maybe it was nothing to worry about. Maybe it was just an early morning and you were tired, stressed or trying to prepare yourself for the rest of the day. Or maybe you were sitting there wondering. Wondering if you were about to get news you didn’t want to hear. Wondering if this was going to be the day that changed everything. Wondering if you’d often think about this morning, about how you straightened your hair, did your makeup, and pretended like this was just another day—when it wasn’t.

When they finally called your name, I watched as you flinched, as you quickly gathered your things and made your way through the door. And then, for a few minutes, I sat alone, wondering. Hoping. That everything was normal. Or better. Or completely treatable. Hoping that the news you were about to be given was good news, manageable news, news that made you breathe a sigh of relief, erasing all those horrible possibilities you dreamed up in the purple chairs of the waiting room.

As my mom walked back out and we made our way to the car, I left behind wishes for only good things for you. For this to be just a casual day. A casual appointment. A cautious but clear checkup. A reminder that everything is going to be okay.

And I hoped you did the same for us.

11 comments

  1. I often have conversations(in my head) in those waiting rooms…. And try to at least express what I can through my eyes. We are all so very vulnerable there…. Hunkering down trying to be brave…. How to reach out and send love without intruding….. Need to get better when speaking with my eyes….

    1. Very true, it’s a tough balance to try and offer support while still allowing someone to have their privacy during what is a very vulnerable time! Sometimes the best we can do is send good thoughts their way!

  2. So heartfelt and touching Kimberlee. I too am wishing for all good things….for her and your awesome mama! ❤

  3. Touched by your thoughtfulness ❤️ With our family all praying for them both , they are definitely going to be ok! 🙏🏻🙏🏻❤️

  4. This brought tears to my eyes. This world needs more of your compassion and love for each other. Love and prayers to you, your mama and all those who sit “waiting to hear” 😘

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