Today, as I do every Tuesday, I was sitting with a man who is dying.
Each week I volunteer at Hospice House, and I have had the honor (and it is truly, the greatest honor) of sitting with several people just before they die… a few, on their last day of life. I’m not sure which one of us gets more out of this arrangement; I know it means the world to me… this sacred time we share.
Today, however, was different. As I was standing there talking to him, the news was on in the background, muted, so that we could talk. Slowly I realized that the words “Breaking News” kept flashing across the screen, along with images of ambulances and people running around. I was engaged, tuned out of the news and these things… but then, an image seemed familiar. The street on the TV looked like one I’ve seen… and then I saw the words, “Terrorist attack on synagogue in Jerusalem!” My twenty-four year old daughter lives in Jerusalem. It is not a large city, so anything that happens in Jerusalem, is too close for comfort in this mother’s eyes.
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