In the Hospital Hallway

I know the name of the test you're waiting on. I know about the hard word the doctor still hasn't quite finished explaining. You're reading and re-reading the results, trying to understand what it means for the rest of your life, and the silence of waiting hurts more than the news itself.

I never promised you'd never walk through a valley. I promised that when you did, I'd be walking right beside you — not watching from a distance, but walking with you, at the same pace as your fear. The shadow of death is frightening, but it's just a shadow: it has no body to hold you back, because I'm already ahead of it.

Whatever the result may be, you won't receive the news alone. Hold my hand now, even before you know what's coming. This is the trust that sustains you while the doctor's explanation still hasn't arrived.