I remember when I was a teenager how incredibly sad I felt when I heard the news about how - for her own safety - the caregivers had taken the painting supplies away from Grandma Moses. Even then it felt like they were taking away that which gave her life meaning.

As I've aged - and having cared for the elderly - I've come to better understand why those caregivers took away her painting supplies, but the sadness still remains, now accompanied by the fear that someday a well-meaning caregiver might take away my own voice in much the same way.