Hands that are almost permanently clenched. They're ineffectual. All they're good for--mostly--is swiping at his chin when he knows there's a bit of food there.
Legs that shake until the medicine wears off. The medicine that helps the Parkinson's causes dyskinesia. His head bobs. Over and over and over. His body sways.
His legs. They're extended way out in front of his wheelchair, his feet splayed. The longer he sits, the more he slides toward the floor.
He used to be the breadwinner. The family cook. The shopper. The chauffeur.
Now he's dependent on his wife. Every day, in every way.
My yard, although it's riddled with weeds, looks pretty green right now...
How brilliantly the words paint a picture!
ReplyDeleteI love the metaphor and play on words in the title and the last line.
ReplyDeletePowerful, Sioux. Living in a 55+ community where the hubster and I are considered babies (I'm 58, he's 60), I can relate. Yes, our grass is green comparatively, and we're grateful every day.
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