Finding Who We Are in Those for Whom We Care
Mrs. Eleanor was my friend. She was a beautiful lady in her late fifties—her voice soft, so you always made sure to listen extra carefully; her skin a lovely hue of rich brown, with a motherly warmth. In her eyes, there shone a twinkle of mystery, hiding a story, or many, for the prized listener. She was a mystery in many ways to us as well, as I can’t say that modern medicine was able to cure her. Continua a leggere →