I may not be as familiar with hospitals as others but I still have a familiarity with the aroma of rubbing alcohol attempting to give off a sterile sense and the sounds of white rubber nurses shoes clunking the halls while the monitor machines chirp. Not because I was sick but because my dad had the kind of heart that wouldn’t let his body do what his mind wanted to; eat the spiciest foods...
What is the name?
When my dad was very ill due to congestive heart failure and during the process of healing from his heart transplant I stopped accepting that god was the name of the thing that helped him. My relationship with this god was very strong from childhood, high school and even part of college. But something in me stopped wanting a part of this god who is praised for all of the good and damned for all...