Friday, December 17, 2010


Hospitals, witnessing the deterioration of the human body, trying to make sense of pointless family feuds and grudges held over from so long ago no one can really remember when it began, wondering if I will turn out to be the kind of child that argues about paying for my parent's medical bills, questioning the morality of putting someone into a nursing home, wondering how a man can hold it together as he watches his body fall apart.

The doctors are full of optimism, and we try to mirror it when we talk to him. You'll be able to walk by yourself soon. You could barely move your arm yesterday, look how much you're improving!

Someone told him yesterday to 'think happy thoughts'. It made me feel like throwing up. If I should suffer a stroke one day and be faced with the prospect of not ever being able to walk unassisted, please do not ever tell me to think happy thoughts.

I asked him today, "What would you like to do when you get home?"

"What's there left for me to do? There's nothing to do anymore."

My grandfather is notoriously grumpy, and although I've grown fond of his curt and brusque way of talking, his reply was heartbreaking.


Last night I dreamt I was on death row. There were mere minutes left to finding a way to get me off the hook, and no one else (including my parents) but me seemed to realise the urgency of the situation. I thought of ways to escape and make a run for it - I can still taste the fear in my mouth.

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