There is always a sense of wistful regret when an older friend moves to a state where my care no longer truly meets his or her needs. Not simply because of the parting, of realizing that our time together is sweet memory rather than active connection, but because I gain more from being with them than they get from having me under foot.
My hope is always to remain connected in a healthful, helpful fashion to their last, but that's rarely the reality. And I'm always left feeling a bit wistful at all I never got to glean from their remarkable minds, their often quiet, too-often unseen indomitable spirit.
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