Today, I stood in a hospital room as the walls closed in. The chest compressions weren't enough. The countless rounds of epinephrine weren't enough. My silent, pleading prayers weren't enough. A hope unexpectedly lost, a heart no longer beating, an entire family shattered. Meanwhile, for the world outside that room, it was just another day.
Life and death are simultaneously happening all around us; some days one is simply more apparent than the other. I spend a lot of time in a place where first breaths and last breaths are simultaneously taken under the same roof, so this irony is never lost on me. I think about it as I walk the hospital halls, imagining the first shrill cries of a newborn and the happy tears of a new mother. In the same thought, I can't shake the memories of agonizing sobs as a family member watches their loved one slip away. For those in either scenario, the entire universe stops; meanwhile, the world outside moves on for just another day.
Death has a cruel way of yanking us back from the edge of our whirlwind. It reminds us of the harsh reality that we did nothing to earn this life, and despite our tightest grip we can not keep it from ultimately slipping away. But death also has a beautiful way of reminding us that each day is a chance to love with reckless abandon, to live in pursuit of bold dreams, and to leave a lasting legacy that is bigger than ourselves. Because the truth is, every day is just another day.
Today, I walked in the door and hugged my husband. I put my phone down and played outside with my kids (okay, except when I was taking irresistible pictures of them ; ) I spent time serving a spontaneous picnic dinner to the 6 neighborhood kids who had made their way into my backyard, instead of stressing about my lack of meal planning. I spent extra time brushing and drying my girls' hair after their baths. I had a meaningful conversation around the kitchen table with my husband after the babies were all tucked in. Honestly, it was a fairly ordinary evening, but sometimes I'm too caught up in the whirlwind to truly slow down like this and enjoy just another day.
This isn't just another, "live like you were dying" pep talk. Or maybe, it is...? But when you've literally stared death in the face and felt the weight of it all around you, you can't help but let it change you once again. You want to tell people to accept the love of Jesus, to be kind to everyone, to take care of your neighbors, and to make every day the next best adventure. After all, we aren't even guaranteed just another day.
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