When my mother and father argued, I'd walk emotionally frozen to my lavender room and stare at the oak tree. I would tell myself to try not to cry and not blink at all. When you try to stop yourself from blinking, your eyes tear and these tiny sparks of light in the darkness of a room at night turn into beautiful watercolor pics in the dark air. Spirituality is born in that time and sadness washed away.
When I ended up in a shared room at North Shore Hospital, I, unfortunately, did not get the bed by the window. Claustrophobia set in as I was cut off from the outside, as if I couldn't breathe. A geometric-designed curtain was drawn between my roommate and I to assure each our privacy. When I got a bit stronger, I asked my neighbor if I could draw the curtain to see outside and she agreed.
I saw the sky and trees. It was at this moment I realized a connection to trees and the IV. Both could help me breathe.