The last day of June. Cool nights, warm days. Gentle. Beautiful.
Just spent a couple of days at Kathy’s in Milwaukee and on the
first morning, fell on my knees in gratitude without completely
knowing why. But it had something to do with the lifting of illness
and of worry and of responsibility while knowing Dave was safe. And
as I lay in bed yesterday, listening to him cough—he coughs so much
now—I think about how he gets no break from it. I have the physical
care of him, but he has the disease. He never gets to take a free,
unburdened breath.
This is what I want—to find the beauty among all of this—the
promise and the poem. It has to be here somewhere. Breath is not
life, but in the breathing, in the beating of our hearts, life rises.
Image: from Motor Impairment
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