How many words are needed here, when the title already encompasses the very thing which makes me both proud and humble. His resilience, even today, yet again, that yesterday was a day not only of vomiting and complaining but where for the duration of the day I had to physically hold my son's mouth closed so that he could breath.
His resilience is such that every possible opportunity he resets with a glimpse of contentment, a quiet moment in my arms. Assaulted continually from within, he takes a moment, or a day, to catch his breath and manages to rebound. I do my best to keep up with him, trailing behind mostly when attending to his many needs, laced with episodes of pain and detriment, that accost Segev and merrily but vainly try to impose their constraint on rare moments of serenity.
Those moments are a bastion, a reservoir of good intent, islands of sanity which seem to sustain me and so I savor them to the last molecule.
His breathing is better but the better part of today he is uncomfortable, coughing, subsequent choking episodes and many close calls of vomiting.
His jaw recedes, barely responding even to the support of my hand, making his bath a particularly gnarly affair, cut short at the part where I always massage his neck, shoulders and back, in an effort to stave some of the discomfort from the advancing kyphosis, whose beligerent pressing on his nerves has destabilized his left shoulder and now also his right shoulder is beginning to recede from its proper place in the socket.
Does he complain? Yes, but surely so much less than he should. And it doesn't matter why because sometimes the allotted time is short and thus the satisfaction of the moment is all the greater.