Paradise

They don't ask you where you're going to stay or how you plan to get there. They just tell you your child is being transferred to the University Children's Hospital. Everything becomes a blur at that point—making travel arrangements, notifying family members and friends, signing authorizations and releases (Did you ever really read one of those things? The vocabulary alone will scare you to death!), not to mention finding your way from the parking deck into the vast recesses of the building and finally, the wing, the hall and the room where your frightened child waits tearfully for your arrival.
"If you can drink that vending machine coffee, you're a better woman than I am." The voice startled me back to the present as the weak smile and weary eyes of another "hospital mom" greeted me. She placed her cellophane-wrapped honeybun on the formica table and settled into the plastic chair for the first of many conversations.
Learning that I had not set foot outside the hospital for 3 days, she shook her head. "A block and a half from paradise, and no one bothers to tell you about it," she lamented as she described her current accommodations at the near-by Ronald-McDonald House.
The following morning, after doctors' rounds, my new friend showed me around a very large, remodeled turn-of-the-century home that resembled a Bed and Breakfast I had once stayed in. Only the tiny wooden "Ronald-McDonald House" sign on the front porch distinguished it from the other houses on the block.
Checking in was a breeze, and after returning to the hospital to stay with my little one until she was asleep—hopefully, for the night—I let myself in to my own little suite, down the hall from my friend. I was so grateful for the hot shower and comfortable bed, and fell asleep immediately.
When the bright morning sunlight awakened me, I couldn't remember where I was. I slid out of bed, refreshed for the first time since I could remember, and lifted the lace panel to peek outside. I expected a view of a parking lot, or a row of trash bins lining an alleyway. What I saw took my breath away! A tiny courtyard wrapped in trees and shrubbery, with an inviting bench.
Drawing my eyes reluctantly back into the room, I discovered that I was standing, not at a window, but a French door. I quickly let myself out and sat on the bench, breathing in the sights, sounds and smells of my newfound oasis. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, releasing the tension of the past week. I silently said a little blessing for all those people who drop the quarters and dollars into the plastic containers at McDonalds restaurants, and even for old Ronald, himself, whoever he is.
It didn't matter that just beyond that tree was the side of another house, and a concrete sidewalk, and that just down the street was a huge hospital filled with sick children, frightening diagnoses, difficult decisions to be made, pain and uncertainty. As a gentle breeze touched my cheek and lifted my hair, I knew I had found the strength to face another day, but for now, time stood still. I was in paradise.