As a caregiver, these two women began to visit my mind, heart, and soul regularly, sometimes separately, sometimes together. In my heavier months of caregiving, they just showed up without being asked, and stepped through the doorway—Martha with a look of superiority in her unflagging energy, and Mary with such accusation: What was wrong with me that I didn’t understand that love—simple love—had all one needed to get through? All you need is love. You don’t understand, I wanted to say. To both.
