I was thinking about this piece that I had written when my Mother was in the final stages of terminal cancer. I thought I would share it with you for today:
Funneled hope pours through the day's dismal tinge and the spirit longs, yea desires, to live. "Simply live." She says in a quiet, steady, ready voice. Let me live the days given and find meaning true yet. Let me take what it is TO BE and narrow and shape moments of action with the simple peace of life. Let me yield to the eternal finger that pokes its persistent end through THIS DAY. Let voice be breath's action as the longing, desperate voices of the many who suffer with nothing to live for becomes my inspiration to live. Let me walk--never wavering from the continuance of a true journey. For in the end living is not measured in quantity, as though more years mean more life. It is measured by its passion--not the flashing, daring kind, but the one that refuses to be anything less than alive. This is the life I choose--no other is meant for me.Abigail W. A 2/1/02
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