SUNDAY MORNING.

March 3, 2008

I wrote this one after a long, quiet Sunday shift—one of those deceptively peaceful mornings that lull you into thinking the world might actually be okay for a while. I’d parked the rig, my coffee was still hot, and I was just watching the neighborhood stir to life—parents wrangling toddlers into car seats, people heading off to church, that sort of thing. The kind of scene that makes you feel like an outsider looking in. I remember feeling a strange mix of peace and distance, like I was hovering just outside the glass. That’s what pushed me to write this story. It wasn’t about a big call or some traumatic moment. It was just a sliver of stillness that made me take stock of the life happening all around me—and the quiet space we medics sometimes float in between it all. This post was me trying to capture that feeling before it faded.