April

I realized I hadn't written in the month of April yet...so I will write.  I had a wonderful time on Sunday hearing  Brahms Requiem. If I were a musician or a poet, even a painter, I would have so many ways to express feelings.  Words sometimes feel very inadequate. The program notes said that Brahms wrote his requiem after the death of his mother. If I were Brahms I could have exorcised all my "mother demons" by writing my own requiem.  I'm not, but he is. He wrote of patience, comfort, and rejoicing not to be taken away. 

Later I stopped to visit my hospice patient, a woman about my mother's age. I have had four significant hospice patients and they have all taught me something.  Joyce was very agitated and paranoid when I first met her. She grabbed for my hand and never let go. Chris was severely disabled, blind, and non-verbal. Touch was the only way to communicate. MaryAnn didn't ask to be touched, didn't reach for me, but over time, as she declined or was in pain, I found that holding my hand seemed comforting for her. Betsy doesn't seem to like for me to hold her hand. It is subtle, but my efforts to reach out to her are politely rebuffed. But today I was there later than usual, she was sleepy, and I needed to hold her hand. We sat quietly, my hand lightly resting over hers on top of the blanket, our eyes closed, both lost in our own songs.