Going in the Hall

I've had to go in the hall from a hospital room twice in the last couple of years to cry a little and get control of myself. Both times, my beloved sister-in-law was there to hold me while I cried. Both times, went I went back, things began to get better. My father was bad. He was not going to ever get better. I had to go in the hall to deal with it. But he was not in pain, he was surrounded by loved ones and he slipped away peacefully. My daughter was in premature labor. They were concerned about her and the baby. She had pre-eclampsia and was put on magnesium which is a horrible, wonderful drug that helps but causes almost unendurable symptoms while doing so. I was losing control of my emotions, so I went in the hall. This was my baby, my girl, my blood, my bone, my life. I didn't know Wesley then. He was not the darling boy, the center of our lives, the chuckling, endearing center of our lives. I couldn't worry about him. It was all about my daughter, the baby I had birthed.

My sister-in-law was there. She held me for a while, both times. Then we went back in.

What do people do who have to go back in that room and get even worse news? That they and their loved ones have to endure more unendurable pain. That it will go on for a long time. That they may never get better. That their child may die. And they have nobody to hold them in the hall?

How do they stand it?