Jan 29 2009
My Hands Will See His Soul
Living with Alzhiemers and Parkinsons
As each day passes, I watch him die.
Slowly, surely and with no reprieve.
It is sundown that brings the worst of times;
For darkness seems so final.
A well worn pattern plays out each night;
Watching, waiting knowing death will come,
Announced or unannounced.
My hands lightly touching, to feel his warmth,
And the gentle rise of his chest.
Memorizing in the darkness his field of energy.
For when he goes than I will know his presence,
Day or night.
skye2008
The path my husband and I are walking as he transcends to a higher plane.