Waiting rooms and Daughter

Waiting rooms are the great leveler. We all stand naked, equal in our need, equal in our hope. It makes no consequence--rich or poor, black or white, Jew/ChristianMuslim/whatever--all vulnerable, all anxious.
Two women, young and old, wearing their hijabs and consoling each other about her husband and her father,
Two African-American families, parents helpless as they entrust their children to science and caring, capable doctors.
An elderly woman, alone and worried about her husband of who knows how many years, needing assurance and consolation.
Husband, mother, father stunned in disbelief that this could be happening to someone so young and so full of life.
In the halls every nationality imaginable with the same pained look on their face and hoping beyond hope for that "miracle" that says "s/he is doing well and is going to be fine."
I did not ask a one of them for their citizenship, nationality, or religion. Those things are so irrelevent
and external. The bond we shared is infinitely greater and more meaningful. We have all been down the same road: denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance, surrender.
Now we wait in silent community, loving anonymously, supporting quietly, wishing abundantly.
Shanon is 42. She is my Doodlebug. Only yesterday she learned to ride a bike and drive a car and went on her first date and graduated from collage and got married and brought Isabel and Sam into this wonderful and precarious world. She is so full of life. The doctors are so positive. We are so hopeful (her middle name is Hope!). We are so thankful for her and all that is to come together.
Her mother, sister, and I love and cherish this gift known as Shanon.