Laurel flew out a few days ago to be with her mother and told me a story about something that happened almost as soon as she arrived in Edmonton. Kathy, her sister, picked her up at the airport and they drove over to the hospital. It was night. They were led to Carol’s room and stood on either side of the bed holding Carol’s hands - talking to her, singing to her. Carol might have been feeling their energy on some level - but remained still, her eyes closed. At one point the hospital Deacon came into the room and asked if she could offer Carol a blessing. Carol was a Catholic her whole life and had requested last rites be given her. While this wasn’t that, Kathy told her that it would be OK. The Deacon took Carol’s hands and blessed them – one at a time. Such a beautiful gesture – the hands that lifted and held, the hands that cared for, that baked and cooked incredible food. The hands that fed three generations of people. The hands that cleaned, and rocked babies – all the babies. They were strong hands, capable hands, and they were hands connected to her heart.
