(Scene:  Mamie and Solly are talking while walking in the mall for exercise.)

Mamie (dreamily):  We’re so lucky, Solly.

Solly (side glance):  Why?

M:  People see us.  And we see them.

S:  Not surprising.  They have eyes.  So do we.

M:  Of course we do.

S (frowning):  Why do I think you’re going to tell me it’s not about eyes?

M (corner of mouth quirking upward):  You know me so well, Solly.  Of course it’s not about eyes.  It’s about seeing.

S (sighing):  What’s this about, Mamie?

M (whirling away):  I need hairclips.  Let me run into this store…

S (puzzled, looking around):  …Hairclips…?Now??…

M (whirling back, breathing hard):  Money tendered, clips acquired.  Can you carry these?  Do you remember when we were up in that Children’s Hospital?

S (blinking): …You were whirlwind fast.  Drop them in this pocket.  The Children’s within University Hospital?

M:  In the Midwest.

S:  Yes.  We were there to help a family find a direction for treatment.

M:  Such a tiny baby. 

S:  Helpless.  Dependent on others to find a way forward.

M (musingly):  We have to look to really see, don’t we?  Remember the Children’s area layout?  The part designed for families?

S (smiling):  Old timey.  Theatre where they could watch cartoons.

M:  Takes you back.  Carpeted steps to sit on.

S:  Posters showing child superheroes saving other children.

M:  Lofty ceilings, two-plus stories, high as a child’s sky.  Cumulus clouds painted on blank blue walls and ceilings.

S:  Big tree going to the tip-top with color-turning leaves clinging to its branches.  Fallen leaf outlines embedded here-and-there in the tan mosaic floor.

M (waving a hand):  Striped barbershop pole.  Quiet resource room with toys, games, and manipulatives, maybe to make testing more fun.

S (matching Mamie’s stride):  Wagons parents could use to pull their kids through the play area.

M:  Brightly colored tables.  A piano.

S:  Woman sitting at the piano bench practicing a song.

M:  Probably a university music student donating her time to play contemplative music.

S:  The children might hear it as soothing.  Peaceful.

M:  Counterpoint to the physical storm they’re experiencing as their illnesses progress.

S:  Curved wall surfaces that could seem like infinity to a child.

M:  No harsh angles.  Imprints of animals or tracks embedded in the walls.

S:  Hopeful place.  Sense of possibilities.  Full of light.

M (rubbing her chin):  Musical scores heaped on the piano.  I keep thinking about that piano player.

S  (nodding):  Blue jeans, backpack, work boots, maroon sweater with its sleeves hiked partway up her forearms. 

M:  Like she was part of the movement, the pattern.  Chin-length white hair, strong hands, repeatedly playing the same musical score.

S:  Do you remember the music?

M:  The memory haunts me, though I can’t remember the notes.  She switched songs when I went behind her to take pictures.

S:  That first song sounded familiar.  Know it?

M:  No.  But the music seemed like a harmonic match to the reassuring notes of that calm, placid, hopeful place.

S:  Frantic parents, grandparents, other caregivers go with hopes for diagnosis and eventual treatment that will help their children grow up, become adults, live their lives. I’m seeing how adults would be soothed by the atmosphere and how that would reassure the children.

M:  Yes.  And I can imagine medical staff members seeing these tiny patients, peering into the children’s innermost selves through filters of medical training, experience, technology, examination, data study, literature searches, more.

S: The entire building, built on high-level medical expertise: it’s a place out of time to give adults and children hope for lives beyond where they are right now.   Truly, it’s sanctuary.

M (wonderingly):  You’re right.  And that simple, haunting song encapsulates it all. A fragile bridge to living life. I see that now.

S (reflectively):  We really are lucky, Mamie.  I’m seeing that and more.  I’m glad we’ve been together all these decades.  What a gift it’s been.

M (happily):  For me as well.  I’m so grateful.  Let’s walk faster.  There’s more to talk about.

About the author:  Linda Lemery llemery@gmail.com welcomes reader comments and wishes everyone a Happy New Year.