At midnight, I was wide awake, having only benefitted from maybe two whole hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours.
At midnight, I was in a hospital intensive care unit, watching the patient monitor, staring at a series of bold green lines as if they held some magical key to the mysteries of the world.
At midnight, I was hoping that series of bold green lines would promise me that everything would be well in my very small world.
The numbers ebbed and flowed and the lines graphed in sync with my beloved grandmother’s heartbeat, and blood pressure, and oxygen rates.
At midnight, with little to no sleep at all, a series of bold, green numbers proved to be a harsh reminder that life is both precious and fragile and there isn’t one more midnight hour that is ever promised to any of us.