I hate growing up.
I don’t like having conversations with the doctor about what to do when The Time comes near my grandfather’s bed in the hospital ward.
I don’t know if he can hear what is being discussed. I don’t know how he feels about it. I don’t know how agonizing it is for him not being able to tell us what he wants. I don’t know how scary it is to know when The Time is near. I don’t know if knowing, or not knowing is better.
I know he recognizes us when we visit him. I know it’s his way of showing his love and concern for us when he gestures to tell us to go back to work or home after we hang around at his bed for awhile. I know he is frustrated by the tubes and things attached to him. I know he dislikes feeling so helpless.
Me too, ah gong. I wish I can do more to help you feel better.