Janet sold furniture in Winchester at a Montgomery Wards, and later at a Heilig-Meyers, while I found myself going through four jobs in only a short while - I would get fed up with the unfairness or underhandedness of the organization and would quit; I had little tolerance for appeasement. I did have a knack of selling myself, however, so landing a job was never a problem.

We would make the trip to Pennsylvania a couple of times a week to visit Mom, a beautiful drive through the back roads of the Amish country, but Mom never changed except for that remarkable few minutes after Dad died. Then, one day the phone rang, and I had a strange feeling -it was the nursing home. The nurse on the other end sounded sad, and said that nothing more could be done for my mother; the congestive heart failure was about to take her, and it would be best if we came as soon as possible..

They had her in a private room, which I thought was so very compassionate. Janet and I took turns either sitting with her or sleeping in the chapel. One night, Janet came into the chapel quietly and put her hand on my shoulder. I knew it was Mom's time.

Her eyes were closed and her breathing was labored. I felt helpless - and my heart went out to my mother who so loved her only son, and loved those precious years of green fields and wind whistling through our hair that she couldn't remember any longer. My mind drifted back to what a monk had told me about attachment and wanting; and how those two things are the root of our discontent. Right now, I had to admit that extremely painful feelings were coming up. I recalled how hard she worked at dead-end jobs her entire life, sacrificing her needs and wants just to please my father and me. How could I not feel touched by a life that was an expression of complete love? Lying here dying was my faithful friend that was magically bestowed upon me as my protector.

I wallowed in my grief for awhile, and then, unexpectedly, found myself looking at the grief itself, looking at the sorrow from a more detached perspective, as if meditation had given my mind some breathing space around the sadness so that I could investigate a little deeper. Despite the many moments of happiness my mother had given me, she was now causing me pain, "Be careful what you love, it could kill you," a phrase I recalled from somewhere. But this ache that I felt, was it for my mother, or was it for myself?

Why couldn't I accept this present moment, right here, sitting with my mom, and where everything was . . . as it is? Why must I bog myself down in a past that was no longer real, or a future without her that didn't happen yet? She would die shortly, but that was something yet to happen. My tears were for nobody but myself and the fact that I wouldn't have her with me any longer, but they went deeper than that even, they were, in some strange way, tears falling for humanity.

This one moment in time was so special, sitting quietly with my mother. Why couldn't I just be completely here without being enslaved by my mind and its constant demands? Perhaps the "all acceptance" of everything, every moment - just being - was a clue to finding the key to truth; just being a mere witness to everything that "is." I could only be patient and trust that someday I would understand all of this in a much clearer way. Then, just that suddenly, her breathing stopped, and as I held her hand, I found myself whispering, "Go for the light, mom, go for the light."

We buried her next to my father in the pretty little cemetery atop a wooded hill that wasn't far from where they grew up, and after the undertaker promised he would install two headstones in the spring after the thaw, Janet and I began thinking about Thailand again.

Janet, my mystical soul mate, was not getting any younger, nor was I. Janet was forty-five, ten years younger than I was, and I wondered how many more trips we could make. Was that young girl that I met in a laundry room over twenty years ago an enchanted being that would lead me to my destiny? During the many years we had been together, she had never let me down once, and now she was walking beside me again with the courage of a lioness, never questioning our decisions, never complaining about how we lived, and with a heart as strong and true as ever.

(Keep an eye out for the next series! Meditating in 1997 Thailand)