Dad died. I don’t really want to talk about it.
But two days ago a man in the fever heat of being eaten from the inside out took his wife to his side when she was having a bad moment. She, for days on end, had worked out the endless train of medical supplies and orchestrated the hospital-house for her heart & soul. She made sure the whole family was eating, that her daughter was comforted and that her son had all the help he needed. She was the bouncer, and a tough one. But at this one point she was down. She was infinitely sad. And he waded through clouds of drugs and agony throughout his beaten body to reach out, hold her hand and say:
“C’mere Joan, we have a change in our plan: I’m going to take care of you now.” And he said it in his intensity that made him so loved, in a flash of Jean Mathieu of old. And she smiled and kissed him.
How lucky are we such devotion?
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