Titles by Kij Johnson are available for purchase online

My mentor is 95. A couple of months ago, he fell on ice. Miraculously, he broke nothing; even though it was bitterly cold outside, there was, again miraculously, no damage from the cold. He hit his face and needed 30+ stitches, some of them in his eyelid, but when the stitches came out ten days later there was no scarring; a week after that, nothing was visible, even if you knew what you were looking for. He got home from PT last week, so this morning, he, my friend Chris, and I went to breakfast at Hy-vee, a weekly tradition ever since I moved here in 2012. He was carrying a cane and walking carefully but upright; he ate an omelette and drank coffee. All of this is familiar. It would be easy and comforting to say that he’s back to what he was. But he’s tired in a way he has never been before this. It’s no surprise, but — well. Well, indeed. Brace yourself, Kij.

10 thoughts on “Not wanting to see things.

  1. I had a lover who was in poor health; facing that, telling him he could die when he hurt too much to live, talling him how much I loved him, helped avoid any of the “if only I had said…” reactions that come after some deaths. And I made a few plans for my own care, since I knew I’d be too numb to think. Thirty-odd years later, I still cry.

    1. Rachel, I feel really lucky (well, sort of lucky), that I knew for years that I would lose my dad. He had Alzheimer’s and slipped away as I watched; but every time I saw him, I said what I had to, and stored memories for later. I am so grateful for that. I will miss Jim, so much.

  2. PS to previous comment:

    But I would not have missed a moment of the time I spent with him, for anything.

  3. Glad to hear Jim’s doing well and hope to see him for the Campbell weekend. You too, Kik, of course.

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