Among a seemingly endless parade of concrete tasks which go on, I realized yesterday that one of my children had not yet had a flu shot. So just before the Patriots kickoff I ran him into a pharmacy to get one.
Only as he filled out the form did I consciously register it was the 22nd day of the month. It has now been longer since Jim died than our family lived with the knowledge of his illness.
I'm re-blogging this to share Naomi Shihab Nye's poem. I'm speaking at Schwartz Rounds at four hospitals this week, and were I to capture the essence of compassionate health care--and of compassion itself--I could never say it as well as she did.
I know about kindness, too.
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