from the other side

I used to sit in the hospital looking out at Central Park. I used to watch children play with their parents. I watched as the trees turned from green, to brown, and then white with snow. Inside the hospital was a world of uncertainty, but the park always remained - a staple of hope, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city.

I used to think daydreams were foolish. That if I dreamed up something it meant it would never come true. It took sitting in the hospital with Matilda to let go of everything. To allow myself to put all hope and all dreams on the table. If life shattered, it was going to crash hard, with or without my dreams. So there I sat, dreaming.

I used to sit in the hospital looking down at Central Park, dreaming of playing with my children. I used to dream of running through the leaves, playing in the snow, and soaking up the sun. Inside the hospital lived a world without time, without material possessions, or food that satisfied. My arms were empty without my children keeping them warm. But I sat looking out the window, down at Central Park, dreaming of picnics, of laughter, and two children at my side.

Today, I am looking from the outside in.

And here I stand today, on the other side. Playing in the park with my kids, in the very spot I had pictured us over a year ago. Matilda laughing, Parker climbing, and Tyler watching ready to catch. Matilda was so happy to run free. She kept stopping to point at the hospital, as if she knows how far she has come - 72 days is nothing compared to a lifetime of living a dream.

I sit today, in the park looking up. I pray for the children sleeping inside. I pray for the parents looking down, that they may begin to dream. Outside the hospital is a world of uncertainty, but for us Mount Sinai remains a staple of hope surrounded by the hustle and bustle of two happy and healthy children.

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