Gradually time moved forward and I began to participate in my life again. Slowly, I began to feel. When I previously felt hollow and numb, I now began to function on more than just auto-pilot. I tried to be more empathetic to other people’s situations and I tried to be kinder and less judgemental. Although I still sought out sadness, I tended to do it at more manageable times, perhaps more secretly and alone. Instead of crying in public, I would save my tears for when I was in bed at night while the rest of my household slept.

With age came missed milestones. His failure to develop started to become more obvious to us and we gradually began to see visions of his future. By now I knew that he would one day die, but I still couldn’t see his death. When readmitted to hospital that first time, I never imagined that I would go home without him. I didn’t. The second readmission was the same. So when I took him for a third time, I packed his supplies including his food and milk and drove him to emergency. By now I knew what to do.