I actually found the sicker my mom got the more present I became. It was not something I was trying to do or was really even necessarily conscience of. It seemed more like I simply didn't have a choice.When I walked into her house each day - there I was. I had to deal with the moment. What med was due, was she aggitated, was the aid handling things, was she fed... And oddly there was a peace in that presence. If that makes any sense at all.
You know, thoughts like this would put me right out of a job : )Tea and prayers continuing . . .
I would make a lousy Buddhist.
Excited and courageous blog.I like it.
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Observations by and about People Like Us from the east bank of the Willamette River.