Sometimes our collections of experiences give us a glimpse into the lives of others. On Friday, I saw some complete strangers, but I instantly knew what happened.
We were walking past the front desk of the hospital, moving toward the wing where Liz’s doctor is. There’s a doorway to walk through before it opens up to the clinic part of the medical facility. As we walked toward the open doorway, a lady in scrubs walked through, followed by a young couple.
The couple were walking with their arms wrapped around each other, the guy slightly behind and off to the side. They looked like their plane just crashed and they were the only survivors. I instantly knew what happened.
I’ve seen that look. I’ve seen it on Liz’s face. I’ve seen it in the mirror. This was supposed to be a routine check up for baby. It didn’t end that way. Baby wouldn’t be going home with them.
We continued through the doorway. Liz said she remembered what that was like. I said I do to. We don’t have proof, but we instantly knew what happened.
Should I have stopped and said something? What do you say to someone, a complete stranger, when they are about to embark on a journey that nobody wants to take? Life will never be the same for them.
As a brother in this fraternity, I can’t shake the feeling that I should have stopped. But I didn’t. Now I can’t. I’ll be prepared next time. I know there will be a next time. And I’ll know it instantly when I see it.