Wednesday 18 May 2005
8:56 a.m.

Before I go to sleep each night, I do a healing meditation for Mom. Usually it involves green and white light, but last night I did one that came to me from a “green” witch -- someone who works with the spirits of nature. He had conceived this meditation with Mom in mind, imbuing it with his “medicine.” I used this meditation a lot just after Mom was diagnosed with terminal kidney cancer, but sporadically lately.

It’s a simple one. I visualize Mom and I standing naked in one of my favourite places, the beach on a lake near our home town. As we look out over the sparkling water, the air becomes heavy and moist, droplets form, and rain begins to fall. It washes over our heads, down our bodies, scouring away all strain and worry, all illness and sorrow. When we are clean, the rain stops and I wrap Mom in a fluffy, sky-blue blanket.

Last night, before I could wrap her in the blanket, a white horse came out of the sky and landed on the beach beside us. Behind the horse was a beautiful white carriage; upon its seat was the blue blanket. I wrapped it around Mom, helped her into the carriage, and kissed her as wings spread out from the horse’s back and he launched himself, the carriage and Mom into the sky. She would be borne through the stars and clouds this night, on a wondrous voyage across the heavens.

decorative features in the hospice garden

~behind the Rotary Centre for the Arts in
downtown Kelowna~doing my stretches~

9:36 pm, election day in BC

Tonight it is warm enough to sit here with the sliding door open and listen to the crickets and the distant traffic through the closed screen. Neither is louder than the other, but the crickets are right outside the door.

Mom has been restless and uncomfortable all day, and not slept. When I arrived at 7:30, she was dozing off in her chair in the living room. Reta and Dad wanted her to go to bed so we settled her in. They said she was anxious about various things, so I asked her. “Yes I am,” she said, “of course.” I commiserated before asking what I could do for her. “There’s nothing you haven’t already done,” she answered. “Leave me alone, I just want to sleep.” I did, and several minutes later we heard her up out of bed, trying to turn off the TV. After a long chat with Dad she was thinking of getting up again.

I felt like sitting by her bed and singing a lullaby or two. But I don’t know all the words to any.

If I’m lucky I’ll be home for a visit during the frogs' spring chorus.

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