In slow motion, I watched as it all came crashing down.
The in-room dining cart and tea urn on its side.
Broken cups, broken plates and 30 cups of homemade chai.
Stretched towards them.
As if to say, “please stay.”
In the big picture of life, it is a small thing.
The spilling of chai.
But on that day.
My heart dropped to my feet.
My lungs forgot how to breathe.
And my mind imagined catastrophic of things.
But slowly, my heart rose up from my feet.
My lungs remembered how to breathe.
And my mind began to see.
The kindness, friendship and community that surrounded me.
Strangers coming to my rescue.
Reminding me to breathe.
The pfister staff and family.
On their hands and knees.
Rolling up their sleeves.
Thirty minutes later I was back in the lobby.
On what would turn out to be one of my most favorite of days.
A fresh batch of homemade chai with me.
For the man and woman who had decided to stay.
And my friends who were on the way.