Miss her every day. The picture of my mother below was taken one and a half years before she passed. She had already lost the ability to speak half a year previously and could no longer walk. But she could still laugh and nothing was quite so important to her as bringing out joy and laughter. She laughed a great deal, despite a really tough early life. Despite her illness. Towards the end she was reduced into kindred, mirror images of my son; paralyzed and speechless, fed through a gastrostomy tube, pain on the outside. While inside the same strength and kindness continued unabated.
July 15, 2015
July 05, 2015
I kiss his hand.
It is damp as he flickers in and out
Do you understand?
I'm here, watching him,
watching over him.
He seems everywhere, in everything
and yet I must keep him
in this tiny little life where anything
Both by lack of choice and by choice, the hours that I am with Segev both as father and caregiver, present unique challenges. The accumulative affect both strengthens and weakens me; being able to see a positive change in his condition, though momentary, is a collusion of Giri-Ninjo that both elates, giving hope but also deepens darker feelings.
Possibly the main challenge I face each day is that I ask myself, how can I love him more? Some days I even wrestle with the issue, while other days I prefer to retreat to my shell. What? What is that you say? How is it possible to love him more? Because love is bottomless, endless.