Back in early March when Tanja was freshly installed in room 17 of the ICU, they would periodically shoo me out while they performed sterile procedures or other maneuvers they felt would not benefit from my assistance. Not knowing what to do with myself–those were foggy days–I’d find my way down to the cafe on 3 where I would get a cup of coffee from the giant urns they had there. I was a Yukon Gold man from day one–bold and strong.

On my first visit I got in line behind a man in blue scrubs, also buying a coffee. I was so full of appreciation for health care providers of all sorts that I was quite close to simply embracing him, but he had a kind of intense, tetchy energy that helped me keep my cool. He paid his $1.75 and was gone from my life.

I then approached the cashier who, it occurred to me, was also a part of this amazing, life-giving organization–I thought instantly of the custodian at NASA who, when asked by JFK what it was he did there, replied, “Well sir, I’m helping to put a man on the moon.”

This woman, with her big warm eyes and her white cardigan, was helping to put my wife back on her feet and back into our lives. So, sure, maybe my eyes were a little brimful as I extended my debit card toward her.

She smiled and, with a little movement of her head, waved me through.

“Really?” I said.

She gave me a little nod. It was no big deal.

But I’ll tell you, it lifted me up. Just a free coffee, but my heart soared.

At that time, Tanja was in the process of remaking room 17 into an oasis of positivity–I don’t know how she managed to do it but it felt absolutely right. And, it might seem strange, but I kind of needed the cafe as a place where I didn’t have to be positive, where I could be a little scared for just a minute. And every time I came down, that cashier saw me and my coffee and waved me through. It got to the point where I would just lift the cup and make eye contact. She’d laugh, I’d laugh. I felt so understood.

Then one night I came down and it was some dude. Skinny, old, weary looking. My lady was nowhere to be seen. So I walked up and hauled out the debit card.

“It’s on the house,” he said in a pleasant, lazy way.

“Really?”

“You’re over 60 aintcha?” he said, looking me up and down.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah.”

“Well, reap the bounty.”

In other words, sometimes you take what you can get. Today was not a day of breakthroughs. No soaring highs. No crushing lows. Just rest and a gathering of resources.

Not to worry. Tomorrow, we reap the bounty.