He's fading, slipping into a world of dreams.  Maybe he's whole there.  His hands move, his feet shake, he jerks, his mouth makes shapes.  

He didn't know me today.  Normally I don't ask.  I asked.  He gave a tiny shake of his head.  He understands but can't be understood.  Speech, understandable speech is beyond him.  I try and get him to take a drink as his voice is deeper, clearer when he moistens his mouth but after today I don't think I'll try.  It went down the wrong way.  It's done that before - too often - but this morning he gurgled.  It would be a small step from a little choke to pneumonia.  

I asked him if he wanted to leave.  Told him it's okay if he wants to go.  He's not near death.  It's not that but he has no life.  Everything is done for him.  He can't turn over by himself.  Can't get in and out of bed.  Can't walk, can't shave or brush his teeth or wipe his bum.  His eyes are mostly closed now.  He opens them when I wheel him in the bath chair - it's called a bath chair this big cushioned bed on wheels - but soon drifts off again. 

 Nabina, one of the RNs, asked how I was doing.  I began to cry.  Told her I'm fine until someone asks me how I am.  

I cry easily now.  Not sleepiing well.  Dark circles.  Tired.  Best time of day is the writing for I escape into another world.  

Like having this dual life.  In the writing life I inch the book forward.  Also see major adjustments to be made to make it a better book, mostly with Tanguy - she has to change herself, not just have external changes imposed upon her.  Finally saw how that could happen - not a deep subterranean psychological change - it is a young adult book after all - but a worthwhile change in learning self-acceptance for at least one facet of herself.

 This isn't a 'worthy' book.  'Worthy' books, and I read a few while in the bookclub, can be boring.   I'd rather it was a good read - or at least as good as I can make it.  

Isn't it typical how life can be so exquisitely satisfying on one level and desperately awful on the other?