I'm prone to "inappropriate" laughter. The tiniest things set me off, send me into full throttle, convulsing hysterics. This is a trait that served me well while caring for my mother.

It’s Mother’s Day and like a lot of people, I’m reflecting upon my mother. In the end stages of a rare condition called NPH (normal pressure hydrocephalus), she’s saturated with dementia.

Buzzed through a security door, I enter the most fascinating improv theatre I've ever experienced. Immediately, the play begins, players appear. Nell, a favorite, engages me first. Carrying her usual armload of stuffed animals dressed in baby clothes and aglow with delight, she starts her ritual of presenting  her "children."

I love a good funeral.  I've been a hospice and bereavement volunteer for about fifteen years, so I've been to quite a few, and I always leave softened, enlightened, expanded and renewed.  All the people crying, remembering...  Their hearts breaking, opening, right down to their souls...  Sometimes I feel like I'm luxuriating in a shower of divine champagne - its bubbly, crystal-clear essence spewing willy-nilly everywhere, on everybody, and everything and ~~~  nobody cares.

Days after my father died, I noticed my eyes were red, itchy, crusty. Figuring it was allergies, I treated them the usual ways. But when they showed no improvement, I went to the doctor. "Your eyes aren't watering because of allergies. They're watering because your tear ducts are clogged !" I giggled for about five minutes ! YAY, OH, YAY !!! God bless this body !

Whenever I doubt my divine essence, I remember the day I experienced it all. I was about three.  My mother had kicked me out of the house with her usual, "Go play !  It's too nice to be inside !" mantra, and I found myself standing in our front yard, alone, bored, and anxious for some kind of FUN. Scanning the block for activity, finding none, I suddenly remembered a new family had just moved into the old house on the corner.  Perfect !  I was off to explore !

What the hell IS a good mother anyway ?  I wondered.  I've played lots of female roles in this theatre called life, and BY FAR, the hardest, most challenging role I've played is that of mother.  There was no audition, no studying or preparing; all I had to do was show up, have sex, and BAM !  I got the part !   Nine months later:  REALITY.  I was on stage - without a script.  

When my youngest was a toddler all he wanted to ingest was apple juice and crackers. He'd stand in front of the refrigerator in his little jean overalls, t-shirt and bare feet- cute as hell - and pitifully point, blobber and beg, "app-juice ? cackas ? App-juice ? cackas ?" Over and over, whining and crying till he collapsed in a heap. This went on EVERYDAY. And EVERYDAY I'd say the same things, "I know. After you eat breakfast. After you eat breakfast. After you eat breakfast. After you... "

Last night at dinner, I glanced out the window and noticed two cardinals - a male and female. They sat on our fence for the longest time... Then the female flew off into the palm. The male quickly followed. Cardinals, in folklore, are said to be visits from the spirit world. I wondered if my parents had stopped by to say hello.

My dad is struggling. It's Friday. Doctors aren't around or they're passing the buck from one to another or the info on what, if anything to do, isn't forthcoming. I feel like I've done all I can do, AND I still have these little niggles... Have I ? So I sit quietly now. Breathe, move some stiff, tense, knotty parts. I stand, bend (and type !), stretch. I rock torso and hips back and forth, side to side, keep breathing into all the stuck places. Loosey-Goosey, I wonder, what else ? What's the best course now ?

In the Spring of 2007, a group of us from The Hendricks Institute were invited to Virginia Tech to give a conscious healing seminar. Staff and students, still raw and reeling from the shooting, were struggling to feel better, move forward.  I was a newbie at the time. I had years of hospice and bereavement experience, but the body-mind stuff was a whole new world !

This 60 Minute piece really affected me, gave me a dandy case of "monkey brain." Long after I slipped into bed, I felt her sadness, overwhelm. My gut still churned with fear and my eyes periodically filled with tears. My brain crackled with words, questions, and thoughts.