life is about more than what you love

I'm in a daze these days. I stumble around, lost and searching, but it's like I don't even know what I'm looking for.

Christie came up this weekend--it was like breathing again, being with her, remembering the hospital and processing how we have adjusted since leaving our city (has it really been a month??). It's getting harder to remember patients' names, stories of people I used to think of everyday. Christie and I held hands and talked, and then just looked at each other for a long time.

Tonight I came across a little rectangle of paper. "Al Smith" it read. "5D, Room 1, Bed 2." All in very straight, practiced writing, nonetheless with little tiny variations in each line, as if written by a trembling hand. On the next lines are written his phone number (with area code), address, and landlord's number, I believe. Another square of paper holds his email address. Child's writing. Al Smith needed me, bid me farewell with all of his information--even the address to his low-income seniors' hotel.

Next to these papers lay my lanyard badge for working at SF General, my photo ID and nametag. I went through three levels of bureaucracy (and waited 6 weeks!) to get this badge, and I won't be throwing it out anytime soon, I think to myself (as if my subconscious has vague plans of volunteering at General sometime in the distant future).

Who am I, anyway? Who am I anymore? "I'm Cari, the chaplain intern here at General. Do you mind if I come in? How are you feeling today?"