She was my age, and also a nurse. She helped birth this place–a place where people could live out their last days in unforced rhythms of grace, where grief itself could cultivate good. I’m sure she never dreamed that she would be birthed to a new life from one of its beds. She was admitted the same […]
the geography of memory: saving scents to save sense
… memory isn’t an arm or a leg, to be controlled at will. Sometimes a memory leaps like a big playmate who hasn’t booked a play date. It won’t take no for an answer. I try to sit with it. I try to give it my attention. Then later, when I call, it won’t […]
