“I hate that part,” my neighbor tells me.  The end part. The part where you watch them slip deeper and deeper into the abyss, and you stand by, because you must. Someone must; they could not, should not, do this alone.

And you care for their physical needs. You attend to their mental faculties. You honor their emotional selves. You stand watch. And wait. Because waiting is all their is now. Well, except for love. That’s there. That’s the part that allows you to do these small meaningless things which don’t prevent the slipping. Love makes it possible.

Love possibles it.

Yes, I think I shall proclaim ‘possible’ a verb. An action taken always by love. Perhaps it is love’s alone to take.

A way made.

A door opened.

A breeze blowing.

This day, though it is yet young, I have cleaned, laundered, picked up, scrubbed, sprayed, carried, reeled, lifted – no, hoisted, and hugged, patted, stroked, smooched, cuddled, held. It’s what love does.

In us. To us. Through us. For us.

Love never dies.

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”~ Matthew 25:40