I may be the elder, but you’ve often modeled the kind of calm integrity I reach for.
The way you move through the world—through the crowds, through change—without losing yourself.
Always aware of your center.
Always grounded in your truth.
Standing in shadow is hiding, cloistering.
Standing on shoulders is rising, opening.
From someone’s shoulders, I can see farther than they saw, imagine deeper, wider, wilder. I carry forward what they offered, but I’m not confined by it.
What is your relationship to caregiving?
Can you receive it with grace?
Can you offer it without losing yourself?
Can you allow the full range of your humanity—light and shadow—to exist within the caregiving arena?
I’ve learned and I understand that grief will be my companion from here on. I’m hoping this is where recovery from surgery and grief diverge.
But during this recovery, I’ve discovered there is one thing I miss when deprived of it: Writing.
So that’s my blog from a fog.
A reminder to stay open. To stay curious. Even when I can’t see far ahead.
To show up anyway
And to trust the page and the pen.
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