I was visiting the hospital yesterday. As I entered the intensive care unit I was welcomed by an emotional crowd of visitors. Tear stained faces and reverberating bodies, contracting violently with the strain of grief and anxiety. While I sat in the waiting room, this tense, morose atmosphere engulfing me, I had a lot of time to observe and ponder my surroundings.
All these people, unite over a mutual being. One, seemingly insignificant indiviual had the dynamism to bring a congregation together. The only common goal they posses is the desire for this one person’s well-being.
Selfishness being the hamartia of humanity, I vainly began to think of myself. Say I was hospitalized and suffered terminal illness, would there be a waiting room of supporters at my disposal? Would anyone care enough to shed a single tear let alone weep for my health? The more accurate question is not whether there will be anyone to bemoan me, rather whether I have done anything to deserve being lamented.
One derivative was obvious, if that many people can mourn you, you must be a person of renowned calibre. Based on that I for one, have got to question the type of person I am, because a paltry action can be the differance between an amiable mortal ending and a deserted death bed.
_Quixotic Novelist
Quixotic Novelist 