I stand by your bed side, and every single day I hope that you will be your old self again. Only hope could bring me to a place where each day holds an unimaginable level of misery to the depths of my soul.
For three years, and five months I have watched your essence slip gradually away. Just like the visitors who use to come. They say that they can’t continue to come, and to see you wither away. I have the opposite fear. Every single day I fear the day will come when I will not see you again.
Your will to live frightens them. They see a weakened old man. I see a great warrior who refuses to be beaten. You are so much stronger than we will ever be. I will stay by your side for as long as you fight. I will be your eyes, your ears, and your voice every single day.
My misery is not caused by your existence. It comes from my inability to bring you back to the place I know you long to go every single day…