He was unable to talk or walk or see, smelling of shit and moaning inarticulately as he waved his hands at the invisibles in the air. His wife asked me to go into his room and spend some time alone with him, spend some time sending him healing thoughts and feelings. What was odd, or not so odd, as I knelt on the floor next to his bed, was that I felt he in his unwanted silence was healing me. On his death bed, falling in and out of consciousness, he was healing me. I was receiving a blessing from a holy man, healing even as his body and soul separated.
Life is so precious.
And so, too, is death, if you listen closely. To the gentler day. Vaya con Dios.