I went to Unity Center yesterday morning, and it helped me. I was very happy to see Vicki, Bob's Hospice nurse, and to be part of the affirmative spirituality practiced there. It fed me, the way Science of Mind fed me--until I got too involved with the structural aspects of the congregation. But I'll bring with me what I learned from that experience--and it fills in for what I miss about Science of Mind. So much of the service and the relationships felt familiar and right to me.

And I'm happy to hear talk about "transitions" and about life as a continual experience through which imperishable spirit moves through corporeal states and non-corporeal states. It makes me feel closer to Bob--and closer to the possibility that I may be able to accept his transition with tranquility. Perhaps even serenity.

On Saturday I was reading in bed, with the kitty curled next to me, and I was facing Bob's side of the bed. The sensory memory washed over me of the hundreds of afternoons when I had read while Bob napped, with a kitty in between. I could imagine him very solidly--but his absence brought me such pain. As I cried from my longing for him, I felt a sensation of calm and of his presence, on his side of the bed, turned to me, with his hand on my waist, and I cried harder for it being only a memory. Then I felt his knees against my knees--and that sensastion was authentically and precisely the way it would feel if he were there--I could feel the denim knees of his jeans against my legs. And I felt that he was comforting me--evoking the physical as much as he could to assure me that he is here, still caring for me, and trying to help me through. My crying calmed as I developed the sensation of Bob lying next to me, pulling details from memory--smell and sound and breath and feel--and the "realer" I made it, the more I was comforted.

As Dr. He said, "Bob is here."  ¶ 12:55 PM