Angels in America

On my way out of the hospital tonight, I stopped in the chapel in the lobby. It's small, empty and lonely, and built to please four different faiths, from Catholicism to Judaism. [To tell you the truth, I'm unclear on the other two--Episcopalian and not sure what else? The little altars seemed pretty similar. I know I was at the right one because I saw Jesus on the cross and motifs of wheat and grapes, symbolizing bread and wine.]

There was a sheet of lined paper on the wall, to write down names of people to pray for--underneath, a slot to pay for the prayers. What is this, putting prayer on the same level as bowling for dollars? Can you buy peace and good health? Even though Catholic churches have metal money boxes under the candles you light for special intentions, seeing this in a hospital turned me off--either pray for my Dad or don't, but do you have to put a price on it? That doesn't seem very graceful.

Mothers
As I prayed at 10 P.M. in the ordinary chair [no kneeler to sink into], thoughts of my mother and my father's mother pressed into my mind. I thought of their faith, and how grateful I was that they passed that onto me. I have something to hold onto. My mother said novenas sometimes, and my grandma brought us back delicate sterling silver rosary beads from her trip to Rome.

All I did was think of them and say Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Dad is doing pretty well. H. went to see him this morning, while I worked most of the day and evening. Dad said the doctors told him that the kidney function is improving. I talked to tonight's nurse, a pretty young brunette named Diana, in the dim light and she told me about a new prescription.

Angels [the word is interchangeable with mothers sometimes and in some ways, right?]
Sitting in Dad's third floor room by his bed tonight--chatting, asking about his day and how he felt, standing to lean over and give him water from a plastic cup with a straw--I kept remembering Angels in America, and the angel that descends above the dying character's bed with a flutter of giant, realistic wings. It was scary and dramatic. To see that on a Broadway stage with H. at my side is an image I will never, ever forget. [Emma Thompson, above, was also gripping in the TV version.] Dad says he's been having nightmares.

I am tired and need to get some rest. My knee is still really smarting from my Cape Cod fall in the dark a week ago. It stings like the dickens. I better put some Neosporin with Pain Relief on. It is hard to care for ourselves when we wish we could be by someone else's side all day. The hospital is a lonely place, for big and small. And it really saddens me that Dad started out in diapers as a baby and is in them again.

Is there no dignity in life?