The Stuff of Life

We traveled long miles to see a family member confined to bed, unable to walk. She's lain there for a year now, drifting in and out of sleep, her memories ebbing and flowing. Her days have condensed to a set of DVD's played again and again, to the nurse's visits, meal time, and the view from a window where chickadees gather around a feeder. What I find annoying -- gray rain driving against the windshield and blowing into my face whenever I leave the car at rest stops -- she would probably drink in as the stuff of life.