Vignette.

My stepfather in home hospice care, reading things on his computer during our morning tea:

“You know how they do these face transplants? Maybe I should donate my face.”

Me, knowing I have to keep things on the lighter side, because tears have become ubiquitous:

“You don’t have the lip herp, do you? ’Cause donating a face to someone and giving them a lifetime of cold sores is just… mean.”

We laugh a visceral laugh that could fit thousands of words.

Inside I disintegrate.

We are all just walking each other home (mantra on repeat).

Love,

F