Passion Power

It is the little thing that I will miss the most about my Mother.  The Matriarch, the Grandmother, Mom. Thinking that I haven't even thought of yet.  How do you say goodbye to the woman who gave you your life?  I look at the empty chair across from me in the food court. Tears flow, sadness and memories of joy set in.  Mom was there from day one and became my friend without me even realizing it.   She poured her love onto others and was always a soft place to land if you were having a rough day.   Mom fed everyone including the birds.   Even at 87 years old we still ate at her table on a very regular basis. She had more energy than all of us put together.   She raised four of us and if that wasn’t enough, she had her cub pack, choir practice and church. She looked after our grandparents and had part time jobs and a vegetable garden and played euchre with her friends every two weeks for decades. She taught through her example to make the be...

No One Has to Die Alone gets death and dying out of the closet and on to the Dining Room Table. I read Dr. Lani Leary’s book in 2012 when my Aunt Judy was diagnosed with a terminal illness. It’s is one of those books you read and know you are forever changed. This book will empower you to support a loved one at the end of their life. Shortly after my Aunt was diagnosed I really wanted to call her but I really didn’t know how to handle such a delicate conversation. What do I say? What don’t I say? Should I be positive or realistic. Will she want visitors? What do I write on the card and what do I say to my cousin? This was unfamiliar territory I was so vulnerable. I kept asking myself what would I want? I wonder if you will KNOW how to handle this situation if the time comes. Maybe you already have. Dr. Leary has worked for over 30 years as a psychotherapist. She's a Chaplain in the intensive care unit of a hospital, a counselor in 8 hospices across the US and is a ...

Grief, funerals and loss remind me of the sobering reality that life is precious and short.   Sorrowful times leave us numb.  We recognize there’s a lot of hullabaloo going on out there about nothing.  Atrocities feel like a heavy burden.  We try and find our way back to a peaceful state as a means of survival.  I wish people the right kind of quiet.  The kind of quiet that feels like a warm yellow blanket.  A permission slip that says it’s perfectly reasonable for you to not be feeling okay right now and doesn’t insist we be anything but ourselves.  Where nature becomes a sanctuary and time softens sharp edges.  I’m wishing you the kind of quiet  that hears a gentle rain or a light breeze moving the trees; where thoughts become flowers and strife is replaced with care and understanding. It is the healing kind of quiet that you marinate in, where you are alone but not isolated.  The type of solitude that welcomes e...