If These Halls Could Talk

I hate these halls. They are the halls I walk when we are here. And when we are here, it means something is wrong. With someone I love.

Again. I meet these halls yet again. They only see me at my worst. And their worst. Sick and helpless. Desperately wanting to get better. Again. They see me. They see me talking. Crying. Yet, they hold me up when I'm crying so hard telling someone my news.

They hear the news. The bad news. The good news. The news that yet again, we have another hill to climb. My hill might look like a mountain to others. Yet, I think my hill isn't as bad as it could have been. I'm sure these halls have seen worse than what they might be seeing here with me today.

But I hate these halls. Everything that happens in here just makes be want to punch these walls. I want to punch them every time we are here because I'm so mad we are back here. Here again.

Here inside the halls...we get the news. The good. The bad. The life changing. They see us break down. Pray. And rise up. To fight.

The don't hit back. They just take it all. And usually after we walk this hall, we can make it thorough to the other side. Because it just a short walk down this hall. It's not long. Just enough to put life into perspective.

And the doors at the end of the hall lead to outside. And once you're outside, you pray you'll never see these halls again.

Marisa Langford is a That Mom of Four. She blogs as @TampaMama and talks about everything and anything that goes into raising good kids (and living in Tampa with kids). She’s also the Mom of three children who have a rare medical condition (too complicated to say) and of one child who has just been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. This is a series of her writings entitled By The Light of the Minitor. All written By the Light of the Monitor on numerous hospital visits with her children where she uses her college all-nighter skills and writes while they sleep. Follow her on Instagram here.