Gilly and I have a lot of sweet moments related to his aging, but there’s no joke or art to make from some of the others.
As today when he fell twice on our walk, misjudging both his capacities and the footing in this terrible, nonsensical new reality of unreliable bone and vision and sinew and nerve, so misaligned with his sense of self, which remains invincible.
As we find our footing in this increasingly treacherous landscape of his twelfth year, this:
And me saying, for another day:
Hey, Gilly. Don’t leave, okay?