It never ceases to amaze me how life can change so suddenly. A life that was once so predictably stable has in the past year been on a roller coaster with a steady decline.
This life that I talk about is not my own but of the one whom I hold most dear to my heart. I cannot help but feel that his is a garment that is coming apart at the seams; that his is an engine that is breaking down; that his is a mind that may never be the same again.
I cannot help but cry when I think about it, because when I think about it I cannot help but fear. This fear in particular has been my greatest adversary since I was thirteen. I stifled it last year by denying and avoiding, but this time around it seems insurmountable.
In a few weeks, signs of cognitive decline have appeared, initially with an informed explanation that they could just be a side effect of chemotherapy. But through a chain of events, I now know that something that could fit in the palm of my hand is the source of all this grief and fear. That this thing, whatever its type, is responsible for my father's mental and physical deterioration.
Tonight I watched Giagi quietly repeat my name to himself so that he could try to hold onto it for as long as possible. It pains me to see and to share this with you, but it is a reality that I am now faced with.
Dum spiro spero.
While I breathe, I hope.
--Marcus Tullius Cicero
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