Tag Archives: Italian Cooking

Courage at Twilight: Old Man’s Lament

Can I visit with you for a second, Rog? I know you’re up to your elbows in dishes right at the moment.  Thanks for coming over to me—I couldn’t have come to you.  I see everything you are doing for us.  You are doing all the cooking and cleaning up after.  I feel bad about that.  I would like to help you cook dinner and wash the dishes.  But I just can’t.  And I’m getting worse.  My legs hurt so bad when I try to stand, worse every day.  I’ll call the doctor tomorrow and see if they have sent my spinal fluid to the Mayo clinic—it’s been two weeks already—and I’ve gotten a lot worse.  I hope they find something so they can treat me.  I can’t stand just sitting here and deteriorating and not knowing why, or what I can do about it.  I just can’t walk at all—even with a walker my legs are too weak to walk.  Look, my walker is three feet away and I can’t even get to it without you pushing it to me.  I can’t help you, and I feel bad.  I’m so very grateful for everything you do for your mother and me.  Your meals are delicious and healthy.  Tonight’s pesto chicken pasta, and that braised asparagus, were both superb.  Do you think Olive Garden makes anything like that?  You always have to pick up after me: when I drop something, I can’t bend over to pick it up, so there it stays, unless you pick it up for me.  I love working in the yard, but you do the yardwork because I can’t.  And you fix what’s broken, like the toilet valves and the sink stoppers.  This year, you put up the Christmas lights for me.  They look so cheerful, and I’m so happy they are up and shining and bright.  Aren’t you?  I just couldn’t do it.  Two years ago, I did the lights myself.  Last year, I helped you a little.  This year, I just watched from the sidewalk, from my power wheelchair.  I tried driving it on the grass, to get closer, but the wheels just sank, and I couldn’t go anywhere but back the way I’d come.  I’m very grateful to you.  Well, that’s all I wanted to say.