About two months ago.
a stroke.
Then another.
My father is seventy-four, blue eyes and a great soul.
My father is fine now, thankfully!
I "suffered" these events with unexpected ease: worried but calm.
I thought that nature was doing its work and that nothing would have been for childish attempts to reject the event, relentlessly by opposing the inevitable: I dived into the river and I got carried away, "adhering" to the situation and striving to live intensely.
And then I discovered something never before seen in his forty now.
I saw my father mention a cry of despair (never happened before, not even the death of his parents) and close to the heart led me to a greater closeness to him.
With the right side completely blocked for the first few days completely dependent on me, the only son.
A cord made of heavy trade, encouragement of mutual smiles, tradottesi in all situations be a force to each other, convinced that we would have won the battle. And so it was.
But what moved me (almost to upset) was a close contact.
Unable to shave the beard I have repeatedly made.
A sunny morning at his home, just finished a hot bath ... I approached her face to his intention to raze it and being careful not to hurt him.
Those eyes, deep blue gray veiled by a look of age I gave back everything to me.
My God! I had never seen so closely. My eyes had never crossed her that way. It was my father. I was his son.
I communicated with modesty and a little embarrassment of his gratitude.
But I was grateful to him for that look. And
to chance, because I had allowed him to enjoy it before it was too late.
I love you dad.
a stroke.
Then another.
My father is seventy-four, blue eyes and a great soul.
My father is fine now, thankfully!
I "suffered" these events with unexpected ease: worried but calm.
I thought that nature was doing its work and that nothing would have been for childish attempts to reject the event, relentlessly by opposing the inevitable: I dived into the river and I got carried away, "adhering" to the situation and striving to live intensely.
And then I discovered something never before seen in his forty now.
I saw my father mention a cry of despair (never happened before, not even the death of his parents) and close to the heart led me to a greater closeness to him.
With the right side completely blocked for the first few days completely dependent on me, the only son.
A cord made of heavy trade, encouragement of mutual smiles, tradottesi in all situations be a force to each other, convinced that we would have won the battle. And so it was.
But what moved me (almost to upset) was a close contact.
Unable to shave the beard I have repeatedly made.
A sunny morning at his home, just finished a hot bath ... I approached her face to his intention to raze it and being careful not to hurt him.
Those eyes, deep blue gray veiled by a look of age I gave back everything to me.
My God! I had never seen so closely. My eyes had never crossed her that way. It was my father. I was his son.
I communicated with modesty and a little embarrassment of his gratitude.
But I was grateful to him for that look. And
to chance, because I had allowed him to enjoy it before it was too late.
I love you dad.
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