Written on January 16, 2016 (11 days before)
I’m sitting on the bedside toilet and holding his hand. I came in and he opened his eyes and I kissed his cheek.
Adding to the list of words he’s said that I’ve understood:
Once when I kissed his cheek and once when Bev said, “Jade is here.”
Anyway, he stuck his hand out of the blanket and Bev said, “I think he wants you to hold his hand,” and I did and he squeezed it pretty tight and damn I want to remember this moment.
I took a picture because even though I swore I didn’t want to document his frailty or illness, this doesn’t particularly feel like either.
After a while, he woke up and was a little confused about what was going on. He’d say things like “we should probably get going” or “do we have to be out by the 16th?” He seemed pretty focused on moving/leaving the house/paying rent, but I tried to ease his worries and talk about other stuff.
I asked if he had a favorite Jimi Hendrix song (which he doesn’t.) I asked the same question when he was in the hospital 3 months ago and he didn’t have a favorite song then either, but I do think Jimi is probably his favorite artist.
I asked if he’d seen the news about the Flint water crisis, and told him that the governor allowed these people to be poisoned. Mostly I was just trying to fill the silence, and eventually he closed his eyes and seemed like he was going to fall back asleep, so I told him I was leaving, and I kissed his cheek and told him I love him.