[I was so glad that my sister was able to make it to the Healing+T circle! :)  Here is her open-hearted and tear-filled share on that night.]

My sister decided to RSVP for both of us for today, and I'm so glad she did. For many, many years, I've been dealing with a medical situation and I think I've started a healing process, just today. Thank you so much for including me, and opening my understanding of healing at so many different levels.

Listening to everyone in the circle, I want to share an experience with my Uncle.

My uncle has been severely ill for over 10 years now. Few months ago, it became pretty clear that he is almost at the end of his life. Although I'm not technically a doctor, whenever I'm with my Uncle in the ICU, I felt like one. I would inquire about his stats for the day, what medications he's on, what's increased, what's decreased. Entering that room, I was so involved with the medical specifics that I almost didn't my Uncle's soul and spirit. All of us were doing that, for years, I think.

For the last many years, my Uncle is no longer able to talk -- so he communicates by writing. We would tell him what's going on in our lives, and how we've grown, how we're working, how my sister has a daughter now, all of these new things. What he would write back, though, would be, "I need more morphine." He would acknowledge our stories but that was what he wanted to say and what he felt like he needed. And even on our end, that's what we thought we needed to get him to help him. Pain medication. Work around how we can medically try to heal him, but since we came to the understanding that that's not how he's going to heal. His body may not

When we learned that he may not actually be able to heal anymore, I started to explore other ways to help him. Extravagant ways. I would go in and celebrate his life, tell him a story, get him to feel something, anything because I felt like he hadn't felt a positive emotion for years. But nothing would really work. He was still focused on numbing his pain by being on morphine.

Recently, I walked into the room -- and just felt this painful intensity in the room. I figured that he was about to just call the nurse and ask for some medication.

Before he could do that, I spontaneously went by his bedside and held his hand. I was just looking at him, just trying to feel him and calm him by me being open and centered. I was sharing my love. I felt what I needed to say was thank you. "Thank you for what you've brought into my life," I said. All of a sudden, he got very emotional. All of a sudden, he says two magical words: "Thank you." I don't know how he managed to speak, but he actually verbalized those words.

That sounds like a very small thing, but he's never said it to me. In that very moment, I felt that we were connected. And in that moment, I helped his healing. He probably helped my healing with this process.  He was calm and didn't need his medication at that moment. I'm sure he got it later, but I felt that moment made a bigger difference than anything else I was able to do over the last 10 years.

Sometimes less is more. Thank you.