holding-hands

Every time I visit a certain facility I come across this sweet woman with dementia who never remembers me. I pop into her room because she’s so lovely. Her hair is always up with sparkling clips. She is just darling. I sit with her and she tells me her story over and over. A lot of times I finish the sentences for her…and she becomes like a little girl watching a magician, “You must be psychic. How do you know that?” I tell her that I do have an ability of sorts while I giggle at her joy.

Sometimes I wonder who left me in charged of “adulting.” I don’t know how to be an adult today…or tomorrow. I don’t know how I got to middle age when my mind feels like I am in my twenties. I look at this sweet soul and think she also believes she’s thirty something. It’s in those moments of honoring her stories and her essence that I recognize mirror parts of myself. I will have those stories later in life when I share about lovers, my children, and nonsense. I will probably give way too many inappropriate details and the facility will have me on some blacklist of avoiding conversations with anyone. So for now I rejoice the moments of loving. Love is contagious.

We must rise to the occasion of aspiring spirits to inspire us. We must take the best out of them and cherish their stories. It’s in those stories that we can foresee how ours may end. Have a blessed day, sweet souls. GO create some magic!

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