Morgan decided that he was by brother from another mother - This was joyfully proclaimed every time that he saw me and I gladly accepted this kinship.
A black man who spoke and moved with the air of a street smart Philadelphia native, Morgan quickly made every entrance and exit when on duty, but when he was there, he made sure any room he visited was filled with smiles. It was his genuine care that I most remember. This seemed more than a job, for he was eager to share his infectious good energy while making his rounds.
If I was feeling angry at one of my therapy sessions, he would kneel beside my wheelchair - like the coach in an inspirational sports movie he was getting on my level, listening to the situation, then saying just a few words that let me know ‘This too will pass.” What was most important was that he listened. He didn’t need to, it wasn’t part of his job - his job was to make sure I was given my medication and stayed safe - being kind was expected, but Morgan stepped beyond that by sharing himself as a friend.
It was this sort of care that kept me going at my rehabilitation hospital - made me want to continue my recovery. I didn’t just want to live, but to Enjoy. This pushed my body to go beyond just what it was “supposed to do” - not just accept the state of things as they are and make the most out of everything.
As I write this, I recognize how important this was for my recovery. Gaining hope and laughter from interactions with other people made me excited to continue. Morgan, and those like him, let me know that I wasn’t living because I was supposed to, but because I would get back to life and to get the party started!
No comments:
Post a Comment