As I stand next to my sleeping grandpa in the hospital, I feel stupid.
It’s Friday night and I just got out of work where I had been stressing out the whole week.
“Am I good enough?”
“Will I deliver everything on time today?”
“I CAN’T leave before coming up with something creative”
All this stress. All these worries. These insecurities. As if that’s what’s important, you know?
I look at my grandpa’s stitches on his head. That’s what matters.
He’s not wakin up. That’s what’s real.
His life. That’s what’s on the line.
He’s been sleeping for 7 days straight. Yeah that’s sad. But I’m just as comatose as he is. Blinded by the things I think are important.
I know what’s important. Family. Health. Relationships are important. Briefs, work, clients, come second.
As I help them carry my grandpa on the stretcher to do yet another scan…seeing him in pain… I tear up. Sad… but ironically, it’s the first sincere raw human emotion I showed all week. It’s the most… important… thing I did all week.