How is it that after someone you love dies, time moves on even when it feel like its standing still? Philosophers, poets and writers have tried to answer that question since time began. I don't have the answer. I just know that, by what I can only imagine is the Grace of God, it does. When you heart is broken into something resembling a 1000 piece jig saw puzzle and there are no directions on how to put it together, somehow it mends. When some else dies and it cracks again, God stitches the old wound and the new wound together into a patchwork of healed scars. Fifteen years ago, when I watched my mother draw a breath then counted the seconds before she took another but none came, I sat by her bed and tried to imagine being a motherless child. Then I did what any kid would do, ran down the long hospital corridor sounding the alarm. "My mother isn't breathing." "My mother isn't breathing." Want to see doctors, nurses, CNAs, and cleaning ladies tur
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