At the heart of it all is the heart. Literally. If it’s not keeping up, we can’t. That’s what’s happening to my mom. Her heart is beating only about half as fast as it should. Well, what do you want; it’s 88 years old. It’s dealt with the tribulations of two odd-ball offspring, another two odd-ball grand-offspring, and now a great grand-offspring who keeps getting really bad ear infections. Between the two great World Wars, it found itself in Poland living a “dust-bowl of the 30s” kind of life. It outbeat its spouse’s heart and the hearts of all four of its siblings and most of its friends. This is a tired heart. A pacemaker would help it to keep up. But that’s not what she wants, and I understand that. She wants to rest, wants her heart to rest with all of those other hearts that have left her behind. And so, at the heart of the matter for those she’ll leave behind is to be OK with what she wants — to let her heart do what it will naturally do. Beat..beat..beat…….beat……..beat……..
beat…………..beat……………….beat……………….beat…
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