As we walk through the halls, she stops to tell each nurse and care-giver how beautiful they are—how lovely their clothes are. They in turn beam and tell me how much they love her.
And today—uncharacteristic for a dour Scottish Presbyterian—she lavished praise on the two of us—“We are wonderful, marvelous and beautiful.”
True, she is fading—her cognition fainter—but I prefer to think that she has been distilled to her essence.
Loving and lovable.