Work, Work, Work. Not.

Ive been working with my 85 year old friend these past two weeks now. Its all coming back to me, how much I love this work. Really, I get paid to help someone feel happiness again? To share laughter and love and ridiculousness?  To experience joy and friendship again before they die? I get to lend a hand to someone, like has been done for me countless times? And this is part of my work? Alright.

Its not always lighthearted. Today she sat in the shower and cried. Cried for the loss of independence, cried for the way things used to be, cried because shes not in her own home, dammit. And I cry as I write this, partially because I know, thats the way it goes. Savor our strength while we have it, and our will to go on. Aging is not for the faint of heart. (That said, shes doing really well. Better then she has in years. Her family just called to tell me the same. See what a little love can do?)


Three hours of 'work' while the kids are in school, a little gardening, time to create, time for me. Last night the children and I lay by the fire reading. Tonight we have bowling on the agenda. Its a good life. A simpler life. Ill take it. 


So listen, if you have an older neighbor or friend or relative, go and visit them. And give them a hug. They probably need it. We all do.