Every morning my mom goes into a special room. I go with her. That’s ‘cause I always stay by her side. Mom calls the room her meditation room. I think it’s just a room where it’s quiet. And I can sleep.
Mom thinks it’s special though. Every morning she goes there to sit and write in her book. She calls it a journal. Sometimes she reads. She says it’s where she talks to Phillip. She calls him her spirit guide. That’s a special angel. He watches over us and helps us to do the right thing.
Mom says we all have a spirit guide. Daisy’s mine. She used to live here before me. When she crossed the rainbow bridge she came and found me. She told me Mom needed a doggy. That’s me, a doggy.
The room has a big chair in it. That’s where Mom sits when she’s writing. And there’s a table with a lamp on it. There’s also the table Mom calls the altar. It has a candle on it that Mom lights before we sit down. The altar also has feathers on it and pictures and a bundle that smells funny and other stuff Mom calls sacred. I’m not allowed on that table, but I can sniff.
The room also has my favorite thing in it. That’s the pad we sit on. We get to do that when Mom stops writing. Mom doesn’t really sit on the pad most days. She sits on a little bench. She puts her feet under the little bench. Her knees are right near me.
Mom’s really, really quiet when we’re on the pad. She calls it our meditation pad. It’s so quiet I can hear Mom breathe. Then she gets even more quiet. I have to listen real good so I can hear her. And make sure she’s alive. That’s my job. To take care of Mom. Even if it means being real quiet. Even if I’d rather be playing ball.