Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.
Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the windo w could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.
Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. In his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.
Days and weeks passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.
It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window
The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.
She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue:
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.
Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.
If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy.
"Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."
Keywords
2019
April Blogging challenge
B-A-R
BOY
Blogarhythm
Book Review
Buddha
December
GADGETS
HAIKU
Hamlet
Rumi
Ruskin Bond
Sexism
Stream of consciousness
Womensweb
answers
anxiety
apathy
barathon
birthday
blog
blogathon
books
breasts
brothers
bullying
cartoons
chandigarh
child
childhood
children
cities
colour
compassion
contest
cosmos
culture
dad
daughter
de
death
death loneliness alone
delhi
depression
desire
devi
discrimination
disorder
diwali
domestic violence
dreams
emily
emotional abuse
eyes
facebook
fairytale
family
fear
feminism
festival
film
fire
first
flash fiction
fog
freedom
freeze
frenemy
friends
games
gender
gender ratio
girls
god
grandfather
grandmother
grief
happy
heart
hills
hindi
home
hope
husband
independence day
indiblogger
internet
jagjit singh
kashmir
kerouac
kids
lessons
life
life lessons
light
loneliness
lonely
longing
loss
love
lover
marriage
me memories
memories
men
menstruation
mental health
mind
miss
mom
mom dad
mother
mother's day
motherhood
mythology
nest
new year
nobody
nostalgia
pain
pakistan
panjab university
papa
paradoxes
patriarchy
periods
poem
poet
poetry
priyamvada
questions
random thoughts
rape
relationships
religion
remember
rickshaw
ritual
sad
sex
sexual harassment
sexual harrasment
shimla
short story
silence
social media
soul
sufi
suicide
summers
taboo
time
toddlers
tradition
tragedy
twitter
valentine
violence
voice
war
winter
woman
women
women's day
words. thoughts
words.thoughts
worry
worship
writer
writing
yatra
yeats
zen
zen.
बेटी
माँ
No comments:
Post a Comment