A Small Town

Today I went visiting in a small town, or well, it was a kind of a small town, I guess--as close as I've come to one in a long time, anyway. It was real old-time visiting; coffee, cookies, talking about the weather. As we went from place to place it seemed like everyone knew my mother, they waved or said hello or made a bad pun, and they were all so kind and seemed happy to meet me. Well, she's been part of this place for 15 years--taking folks where they need to go and doing the things that need doing. No surprise they were nice to me.

As my dad went from place to place, he was greeted with a smile and a nod, or a wave and a "Hello there, how's your day going today?" but it didn't come only from people he knew. He was greeted by people cleaning and doctors and other older guys riding by in wheel chairs. It wasn't just my dad that was greeted this way, all the people wearing hats with their branch of service or a jacket with a logo were given a warm greeting. 

I heard a man who had been working hard clearing up a gaggle of wheelchairs as the end of the day approached and more and more people were headed out into the bitter cold stop and ask a man "Which branch of service were you in? Army? During WW II? Italy, Africa, Sicily? Thanks so much for your service, you know I was in Italy, too. Did you learn any Italian? No, me either, well a little, maybe just a little." 

It happened again and again. At the pharmacy. At the cafeteria. And in the oncology department. 

Makes a girl have to stop and get a hold of herself. Wouldn't want the vets to see you getting emotional or anything. 

That's a day in the life of the small town or what you might call a VA hospital--and chemo round number 17. 

Love in action. 

Amen.