The following is the next in the series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.
Something
is loosening its grip a bit. I can’t write yet, but I can think
about it a little. I don’t think anymore that Dave is going to die.
At least not anytime soon, although he still seems afraid of trying
to sleep in bed. He’s been developing bed sores from spending so
much of his life in a chair, but he still doesn’t want to change
that. It’s like he can’t see that it prevents him from doing any
of the traveling he says he wants to do.
As
for me, I’m getting used to this, and am content that I’m living
the life given me. There are still quick, fresh mornings like this
that let me breathe, and days that allow pleasant hours. Asking more
than that is more than too much, but true delight still sometimes
comes.
image: clipart-library.com
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