Every time I bring Ben to the park, I will bring him to one of the several cement benches. Without fail, he would leap onto the bench with such elegance and grace. We would sit there, side by side for a while before we make our way home.
This morning, I led him to one unoccupied bench. Seeing that he did not jump, I asked him to jump. He did not. He did not even try. He sat down and looked at me.
He could not. His eyes surveyed me, asking me whether I would still love him if he could no longer jump onto the bench. I stroked his head in affirmation.
As the days go by, I need to make peace with the fact that my body is slowing down. It will start to have problems. The Lord knows how much problems my body is in.
I need to do the same to Ben. I need to give him room to grow old, to be weak, to be sick. Expecting him to be in perfect health is not fair and not reasonable.
He has a right to slow down. He has a right to move on to a new phase in life.
I could not grow old together with Kathleen. I am now growing old together with Ben. I pray I could live slightly longer because there is no one to take care of Ben.
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