One of the most intimate interactions I have with Susan is being in her company when she processes her feelings, either profound sadness or joy. Witnessing joy is pretty easy. When Susan walks out into her yard and puts her face into a large drooping flower (whose name I always forget) she derives such pleasure from looking, smelling, and touching it. And I mean blissful joy. Simple, easy, honest bliss. She smiles, her face glows, eyes sparkle, she looks at me to share the moment. I get some of it, some of the bliss, but I marvel and enjoy watching her come to such a state of beauty. Of late, in the back of my mind I feel a bit of sadness that these moments are now limited. Sometimes Susan does too, not often, as that distracts her from the present.
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