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I remember when my mom was dying, some of the most healing moments for me happened at the end of her hallway in the hospital. I wanted to give others a chance to visit with her, but I also went there to take breaks from the intensity of having to say goodbye. Nurses often stopped to chat with me there, and I’ll always be grateful for the compassion and wisdom they showed.

Now that I do my own form of healing work in a hospital, I have a special radar for the end of the hallway.

Recently, a woman was sitting alone there as I moved from room to room on the floor where her husband was a patient. She was warm and open and instantly loved the idea of giving me a word to make for her.

The word was TRAVIS. It’s her son’s name. Her son who is no longer living. Her son whose presence I felt through the love she exuded about him.

We had a lovely visit as I drew, and she beamed when she saw the art I had made for her. She got up to take it to her husband’s room, hugging me as she left.

I wondered what the name Travis meant, so I looked it up as she walked away.

Crossing; crossroads.

I had a feeling Travis was still wearing his name well.

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