He's the strongest most stubborn person I've ever known, and now I'm forced to watch as he wastes away. I feel like I'm not saying anything new. That I'm not the only one to have ever gone through something like this. It's so present in my life right now though.
His skin looks translucent. His white hair is a brilliant shade of wall primer. I can't look away from the slight shaking of his hands. His sentences trail off and his points are never fully made. All I can do is absorb everything. I'm unable to make judgments. I feel numb, still and sad as my wide eyes take it all in as if in a perpetual state of shock.
His shoulders are hunched. He’s softened around the edges and he moves so incredibly slowly. This was the man who used to lift couches with ease and was the only one who managed to pull my drug induced enraged and violent older brother off my mother years ago.
As I sit here and type this he calmly lays on the couch making a strange wheezing/moaning sound I'm not sure he realizes he's making. I know he's in pain. But he refuses to admit it or tell anyone. He reminds me of a stoic golden retriever still trying to wag its tail as it painfully limps up the stairs.
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