He had a fit yesterday. Another violent outburst followed by another bad seizure. He didn’t recognize me when I talked him down. His eyes were looking right through me.
I knew this was coming, but it still doesn’t stop it from hurting. He said it would get worse.
But what happened last night hurt even more.
I was tucking him in. Making sure he was comfortable and his bed was clean and the TV was flipped on the movie channel. He was watching me all the while. I tried to ignore it and finish quickly. But just as I’m turning to leave, he grabs my hand.
I swallow hard and force myself to look at him. He’s smiling at me with tired eyes. I can’t remember if I smiled back. He closes his eyes and brings my hand to his face and I can’t decide if I should pull away or not. I don’t.
He presses his lips to my palm and a knot forms in my throat while he whispers three words into my skin