Losing Mom and Finding Myself Through Mindfulness
“Lewis bumps the door open with his red walker. “I hope I’m not late!” Jean arrives next – striding into the room in an attractive pantsuit, hair swept back and book in hand. Becky fills the doorway in a large wheelchair with an oxygen tank strapped to the back just as Laurie arrives and carefully handrails around to the closest seat.
I know the last student will be arriving soon and I scoot my chair to make space. I see Mom’s feet first. Karen, her caregiver, has . . .”