Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Newport Menthol

I’m doing it again. I’m getting attached to a resident at the hospice. I should know better, but there’s something about him that pulls me in. He’s so damn young and that makes it all the more unfair. I’m the most comfortable with him, he reminds me a little of myself, if I had kept going on that road that leads nowhere.

I try for distance, to pull back a little, if only for my own sanity and wellbeing.

It’s not working.

Maybe it’s his need, his fear, or the fact that he just seems too young to be dying. I see the gauntness of his face grow more pronounced, his hands shaky, his mind slipping, and I know he’s going to break my fucking heart. Most days he already does.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Are you talking about the resident whose name starts with D? He is so sweet...almost waiflike. It's easy to see how you could become attached to him. It breaks my heart to know that he is the same age as me, and that he may not make it to 30.