“Namaste, Liz!” Within the door-frame of my study stood the hospice chaplain, her eyes lowered, her fingers tented in a prayer position upon her chest. It was Eunice, time for our Thursday morning meeting, an appointment she has seldom canceled during our two years together. As she slipped off her navy jacket and sank into my desk chair, she crossed her legs, leaned forward. I was hers for the hour, mask and all.

“Good to see you, again, Eunice,” I said adjusting my voice amplifier to reduce the stress of making speech, one of the symptoms of my terminal illness. “Thanks for coming. Seems as you were just here.”

“I feel the same way. Picking up from where we left off comes easy.” Her soft eyes welled with compassion. The variety and depth of subjects explored, the book titles shared, questions about my blogs, the laughter, and the silent moments have opened us to the grace of the present moment—both eager to learn of LIFE’S fulness.

Early on, she had given me a copy of Thich Nhat Hanh’s paperback, The Miracle of Mindfulness: Introduction to the Practice of Meditation (1999). Periodically, have I thumbed its pages, paused to reflect upon its wisdom that startles in simplicity, that grounds in humility, that deepens my acceptance of what is—all of this while awaiting the most momentous experience in my short span of eighty-six years on planet Earth.

Until that time comes, Eunice will continue tracking my psycho-spiritual growth—a fascinating process, with each days’ dreams and new learning.