It was impossible not to appreciate the beauty surrounding me last night, and even though it's all familiar, I was soaking it in like I'd never seen it before.
Maybe it's the oranges or the fifty shades of green and brown. I'm not really sure, I do know that I was inhaling it all and feeling blessed and grateful and even a bit giddy.
That is until Max told me that his coach told him about the boy he played hockey with a few years ago named Cory who passed away unexpectedly yesterday. I've believed in magic for a long time. The ordinary magic that gets buried by responsibility and jobs and bills and life. Even in tragedy, I think there is magic. There is always something beautiful underneath the rubble.
I think my eyes were first opened to this kind of thing when I first started working at the hospital. There is magic in love and sadness, joy and pain. In the wheelchair parade going down the halls and making eye contact with someone who wants to share their story, a part of their soul really.
There's no time to be bored in a world as beautiful as this.
