How can you smile when I talk to you?  I mean, I’m glad you do: it’s a sign that you’re comfortable, not in pain or distress.  Despite what’s happening to you, your body failing you, you can still manage to move your lips into a slight smile.  You’re not even fully conscious, yet you seem to understand what’s going on around you enough to react with a smile.  At least, I like to think it’s a smile.

I smile.  I smile at you, obviously. Only, mine is a weak smile.  Not the full lights-up-your-face smile that you’ve always had.  That you’re known for by everybody.

These days are a kind of limbo.  Is it an adjustment period?  Are you being this calm so we have time to process and prepare for what’s coming?  That might prompt questions of spirituality.  A spirituality I don’t have.

All my rationality tells me is that you’re comfortable, not in pain and not distressed.  That this bastard of a disease that’s robbed you of absolutely everything is giving you an easier time at the end.  It owes you that much.

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