Discovering physical and emotional shelter in the garden. Photo: P. Annie Kirk
Comfort is not a luxury. Comfort is a necessity.
My name is Annie. I’m my mother’s caregiver ambassadress, a card-carrying member of the sandwich generation, and I have miles saved up on anxiety airlines. Nature is my safe place.
[pullquote]Sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again. —Joseph Campbell[/pullquote]
It’s 9:40 pm on a Friday evening. I’ve just come in from weeding the front garden by streetlight while the glow of the lamps washed across my terrain like a cozy blanket. Bugs were minimal thanks to the cold winter and spring—the temperature requires only an old sweatshirt. The street noise is quiet thanks to small-town living.
Time warped. While I was busy in my caregiver’s world managing Mom’s decompensating cognitive functioning, dandelions and thistles invaded the rose garden. My heart is wrenched by her attempts to logically explain her recent elopement from the caregiving facility and a two-mile sojourn that left her with a severe sunburn on her forehead, arms, and hands. Weedy thoughts i...
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