I am really touched by what you have written - it speaks to me heart to heart. Bless you and your writing - a gift to the world. Joy
Love the last line.
I love the poem: I identify particularly with being carried like driftwood into the sea ...way to go.
My mother was a carer but someone who cared too much, gave too much throughout her life and was unable to really receive. I realised last week as I moved by the weeping cherry planted in commemoraiton of her, that my capacity for love and kindness came from her and that all my niggles about her are insignificant. She was able to receive from me and other family members during the last days of her life and for that I am so grateful.
What a witness observing my process might consider" dying well" might not be my experience. I will not know until I take that last breath and step into the unknown. My wish is to be conscious at that point, to be conscious in my dying. At this point in time, that would be "dying well" in my book but if I am overcome with agony I might well clamour for morphine and los of it. But maybe this is just my ego talking and maybe the process of dying is one of letting go of the ego, over time or...