She stayed with us during the last years of her life. She stayed in our room. She had private nurses that helped take care of her. The smell of Johnson's baby powder also reminds me of her, because the nurses would put it on her skin. I would read her charts even though I didn't really understand what the numbers meant at the time. We had parallel bars ( I didn't know what they were called at the time.) where she would practice her walking. I didn't know that was Physical Therapy either. I remember her laughing, biting our fingers when she had her dentures off. I didn't know what it was at the time either, but she would call my sister Vietcong.
When she passed away, she was laid to rest at our house. I wasn't scared. I inherited the bed that she slept in. It actually felt comforting, as if I could still smell her, and that she was still around.
Rest in peace, Nanay.
If our practice was our life
If prayer, our words
What if the temple was the Earth
If forests were our church
If holy water—the rivers, lakes, and ocean
What if meditation was our relationships
If the teacher was life
If wisdom was self-knowledge
If love was the center of our being." ~ Ganga White
My Scalia burn(s):
“One would think that Lani's showy profundities are genetic. No man should see how laws or sausages are made.”