Hello there,
This weekend, I visited my mama in her memory care residence.
In a world that can at times feel noisy, fractured, and desperately starved of human connection and real intimacy with one another, I walked into her care home and experienced the very best of who we are as human beings.
I was moved to my core by what I witnessed.
The hearts. The love. The gentle smiles. The goodness.
The profound care. The prayers. The singing. The unwavering dedication offered in service, not only to my mama, but to every resident under that roof.
I watched human beings holding space for others who simply cannot hold it for themselves anymore. Helping residents walk, holding their hands, serving food, combing their hair.
When it was time to leave, I stepped into the elevator alone, broken open, holding both grace and grief in the same breath.
By the time I reached the ground floor, tears were pouring down my face.
The doors opened. A woman was standing there, about to walk in. She noticed my face.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently. "Did you just get a diagnosis?"
"No," I told her. "My mom has dementia."
She looked at me. Didn't try to fix it.
She simply asked: "May I hug you?"
And we hugged. Right there in the underground parking lot.
Two strangers holding each other in the slipstream of life's hardest transitions.
She told me her name was Ann. And as we held each other, she shared that her own mother had also had dementia and finally passed in peace.
And suddenly, in that shared understanding, we weren't strangers anymore.
We were just two daughters, navigating life’s unexpected journey and all it entails.
That is the kinder way.
It isn't always about grand gestures or solving the unsolvable.
Sometimes the kindest, most profound thing we can do in this noisy world is to notice someone passing us with tears in their eyes, recognize the shared ache of this human experience, and simply ask:
May I hug you?
With love and gratitude for all the seen and unseen angels.
God bless you.
Sage 🪷
