It’s been a rough few weeks having moved my mother into hospice care. We have moved her to varying levels of care four times over the last two years. It is humbling to know that this is the final stop. Not at all what she imagined for herself.

When I was growing up, my mother worked in geriatric nursing. She would say that as people age, we only get more of the same. She wasn’t kidding.

When my father was transitioning, he was alert and, gentle and prepared to go. Not a huge change from his general demeanor. Mom, on the other hand, has always had gas for blood. She is a spitfire with places to go and things to do and a stubborn streak not to be confronted. True to herself, she is resisting this final stop all the way. Her dementia goes in and out of focus, but what she knows for sure are her three children. I’d consider it an honor, except she thinks we’re going to help her “break out.”

I love here spirit and spunk and resistance to what is… to a point. Even at 92 years old and in hospice my mother must learn the graceful art of surrender. How much easier it would be for her if she could just go with the flow. Just this once.

This is my long way of saying that you may be hearing from me sporadically for a while. I love to write to you, and I especially love your thoughtful feedback. I will do my best to keep you updated and share the inspirations that come from this experience.

Blessed be and amen,

Mary