Montreal is a Grade A mess.
We've got 10 cm of snow on the way. And right now, it's the heavy, wet, giant clumpy kind of snowflakes. I will say this - I always love the way fresh-fallen snow looks on the trees. So, it can't be all that bad.
When it started snowing this afternoon, I was at the Montreal Children's Hospital. And it hit me: here we are bitchin' and moanin' about more snow, when there are kids in here right now who'd give anything to be able to go out and play in it. Kids who've literally grown up in the hospital. Kids who can't go outside because their immune systems are so compromised, it would send them back months in treatment. And then - the snow took on a whole new feel for me.
It reminded me of a Radiothon story we heard a couple of years ago. There was a mother with a terminally ill newborn. This child was not going to make it. The mother was not faced with the prospect of surgery or medication or treatment. She was faced with saying goodbye.
It was raining that day. A light mist. And hospital staff soon spotted the woman outside on the hospital grounds, walking through the soft rain, baby in arms.
This child had spent every day of her short life inside hospital walls - hooked to machines, prodded with needles, struggling. She had never been outside. And the one gift this woman wanted to give her baby was something that we take for granted all the time.
The chance to feel the rain on her face, just once.
This woman was helpless and full of heartache and grieving for what was to come - but she could at least do this.
See, it's not all about medicine and equipment and treatment and doctors. It's also about compassion and love and all the intangibles. And let me tell you, all of this - it's there at the Montreal Children's Hospital. I have been lucky enough to feel it.
If you haven't given yet...
514 939 KIDS or 1 888 547 KIDS.
And thanks. :)