for some time now. i have been wondering what it means when i speak of life to my children.
and less commonly, loss.
or when we try very hard. to be, and more often than not, trying not to be.
as christmas walks closer, so many variations of the same old same old, i find myself looking at the same old memories, holding them with different people. holding the space. holding that time.
this is one of them.
may we all, not be alone.
are you, well?
may 19. 2015.
know what giving up looks like? i do. today i did.
Mr R. not going to the gym? you ok?
fever again. and the pain. nothing works. i rest ok?
can. you can rest. don’t say we torture you everyday. but tom we start again. ok?
i left. and for some funny reason, i turned and walked back to his bed. knelt n looked at him. properly.
“hey. Mr R. sit out tom. pain or no pain. together ok? 1 or 2 or 3 pple help also can. try ok ? i buy you nasi lemak ok? you not giving up right?”
instantly. he teared up.
this brave man. this man with children older than i am. who has gone thro multiple surgeries. been off work. in and out of hospital so much we know him by first name. this brave cheerful man. was thinking of giving up. and we both knew it.
there is a look. there is that feeling. when it doesn’t matter anymore. when the pain, the endless days. investigations. medication change. doctor opinions. therapies. nursing aids. promises. surgeries. discharge planning. trying anything.
it. doesn’t. matter.
and it breaks anyone to glimpse that. when hope fades. quietly. without any conscious decision. when. it just doesn’t matter. really.
how many times have i missed that. when i forget to ask. when we think that what we want, is best. is logical. is realistic. is mockingly important. to us. therefore to them. when the human spirit isn’t even part of a footnote.
and today. 3 grown man cried.
one with a grandson who doesn’t care. really. he said i know him for days n offered to buy him bread because he is discharging today.. his grandson has never bought him a meal. his grandson whom he loves most. he goes back to face that isolation. when no one cares whether he has bathed. or eaten. or has taken his medication. or tried a coffee bun.
one who has lost a limb and when i knelt beside him, asked how he is taking it. this man with tattoos. big burly loud man. was silent for a moment. and wiped his eyes. of all things, more than the 10/10 pain he has. more than his family. he confessed he worry how strangers would pity him. and how he pities himself. secretly. quietly. is that normal he asked?
and then my dear Mr R.
what a day.
more than assessments. diagnosis.
much more than treatments or gait aids or getting home safely.
sometimes. i forget we all need someone to look at us in the eye.
to pause and squat and really ask, you ok?
sometimes, we truly need a hand to hold.
someone to say you are not alone in this. not today.
tree kids in this season 
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