I walked through the Ruby Memorial ICU waiting room, making a beeline to the bathroom. The hospital has an amazing view of the football stadium (in fact, you see it often during telecasts). This side of the building is really nothing but full-length windows.
The sites outside caught my attention. The parking lots were overflowing with excited people wearing WVU colors and decked-out cars, all tailgating under blue and gold canopies. The scoreboard was lit with amazing highlights from seasons past. I could hear the faint buzz of excitement from below.
I looked over my shoulder. Behind me were people in utter despair with loved ones in serious peril. They were wearing what they had on when their life took a sudden turn. This window was all that separated the joyful from the downtrodden. The knowledge that I was on the “wrong” side of the window occurred to me. Had that 1/4″ of tempered glass not been there, who knows which direction my next step would have went.
Can you believe it, I was actually angry at those people outside. How dare they not have a care in the world… other than the outcome of the game. Can’t they see the huge hospital casting its shadow? Do they know, or even care, what complete hell is going on just a stone’s throw away? Those inconsiderate bastards!
Throughout the past two years, this same feeling has revisited me on occasion. It’s not so much anger any more, but jealousy. I resent the freedom that my son had stolen.