A Blessing for the Chronically Ill

For those bent double,
crawling on hand and knee
to the bathroom;
hauling yourself up the stairs, or sinking,
bone-tired, onto cold, hard floors.

For those laying unwashed—
dreaming of hot showers, bubble baths,
line-dried sheets, and fresh clothes;
listening to the world buzz and bustle
through cracked windows and sealed doors.

For those tormented
by the incessant din of ticking clocks
bouncing through empty rooms,
clanging into every thought—
feeling the page blur, the sentence fade,
and the word slip just out of reach.

For those who cannot remember
a day without pain, nausea, or the
thick grogginess of medication;
resting cheeks on tear-dampened pillows,
wondering just how much more you can take?

For those changing pads, dressings,
pouches, tubing, tanks, and cannulas;
navigating new routines, adaptations, 
and aids—
celebrating and grieving,
grieving and celebrating.
 
For those nervously waiting
on sticky hospital chairs and beds (again),
who know all the staff by name
and the on-hold music by heart;
spending hours chasing referrals and
letters and tests
and scans and results
and cancelled appointments
and benefits—
feeling utterly exasperated and spent.

For those struggling to set foot outside
and feel safe in the world again;
with beautiful bodies diligently
working overtime to protect you
and keep you from harm.

For those who no longer get the invite;
navigating saying no for the zillionth time;
collapsing into bed
after leaving the social event early
knowing it will take you days to recover.


This blessing is for you.


It holds no big bold claims or promises,
no long fancy words or theories,
no answers or solutions,
no labels or diagnoses.
This is a soft, quiet,
whispering kind of blessing.
One that reaches out its arms,
scoops you into
a warm embrace,
and sighs:

"Hello.”