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EndNotes

Three blocks of life

Moving through downtown this morning, early, early, after my peaceful walk around the lake, I was jolted as sirens blared. Soon a fire truck appeared, then a medic unit and then two patrol cars. All the first responders arrived first to tend to a homeless man whose arm had a severe and bleeding bump – like a golf ball protruding from under his skin. He looked dazed and disheveled with wild hair, dirty clothes, like he had just awakened from a night on the street… In the next block, a man knelt at the edge of the intersection, his head lowered and his hands folded in prayer with all the precision of a Benedictine monk. He was not distracted by the city noises and vehicles moving around him…I wondered what his heart longed for. In the next block a team of regulars were setting up their ugly, deeply disturbing photos (which is the point, I know) of aborted fetuses at various stages of gestational life.

Such an odd juxtaposition: defending life with photographs while steps away, suffering people struggled and prayed for healing and peace.

(S-R archives photo)


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About this blog

Writer Catherine Johnston of Olympia, Wash., addresses issues facing aging baby boomers and seniors as well as issues of serious illness, death and dying, grief and loss.

Ask a question: Catherine welcomes questions about aging issues and grief. Email her at endnotescolumn@gmail.com.

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