By Richard Russo
Pulitzer Prize-winning author Richard Russo and 5 different Maine authors right here turn out that the shut of lifestyles don't need to be jam-packed with darkness, while hospice assistance is handy. those writers recount intensely own and profoundly relocating end-of-life money owed that hide a large spectrum of human event. All six authors are donating their royalties to a Maine hospice; Down East also will donate 10 percentage of proceeds to an identical reason.
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Additional resources for A Healing Touch: True Stories of Life, Death, and Hospice
When I visited as a child, I was petrified he might hear me cough. A ticklish throat or the slightest pallor, and he’d rush to a large jar of revoltingly long tongue depressors, thrusting one down my gagging throat. ” How rare it is to hear a doctor express such empathy. AS THE WEEKS PASSED, the snail’s nighttime forays became more adventurous, and so did its appetite. The flowers I fed it clearly were not enough. One night it ate part of the label on a vitamin C bottle. Another night it climbed up a pastel drawing made by an artist friend and ate some of the green border.
Survival often depends on a specific focus: a relationship, a belief, or a hope balanced on the edge of possibility. Or something more ephemeral: the way the sun passes through the hard, seemingly impenetrable glass of a window and warms the blanket, or how the wind, invisible but for its wake, is so loud one can hear it through the insulated walls of a house. FOR SEVERAL WEEKS THE snail lived in the flowerpot just inches from my bed, sleeping beneath the violet leaves by day and exploring by night.
By day, the strangeness of my situation was sharpest: I was bed-bound at a time when my friends and peers were moving forward in their careers and raising families. Yet the snail’s daytime sleeping habits gave me a fresh perspective; I was not the only one resting away the days. The snail naturally slept by day, even on the sunniest of afternoons. Its companionship was a comfort to me and buffered my feelings of uselessness. In the evenings there was a short but satisfying time when I knew the rest of the human world would join me, if just for the night, in my recumbent lifestyle.