Today my beloved is 65. We lay in bed together this morning for a couple of hours, some of it holding hands. He said if I bought a small cake he would try hard to eat some of a slice.
As I came online, I went to my g-mail, re-read a letter from a good friend last night, read my Victoria digest which told me about a Journal of Victorian Culture on-line I can reach, and then went to facebook and was immensely cheered by a friend, Nick’s contribution: Pete Seeger singing “This land is your land”, which another friend, Diana, said brought tears to her eyes:
I sang along and cried. Lucky Pete Seeger. Lived until mid-90s and still sprightly (would be the word). Brave man who held out. A shining example to follow this morning, to be inspirited by.
My new dream-hope (doubtless it’ll not come true, as none of them have done), is he lives until my birthday. I’ll be 67 November 29th. What say you? Do we have a chance? everyday I marvel that he has deteriorated in some way again, a way I hadn’t thought of, and yet is still alive (!).
I am reduced to hoping fervently for more days every day.
If Caroline comes over and he’s up to it, we’ll take another photo of him. For now here is Yvette with two members of her monthly social club — she’s the third girl farthest from you, sort of purply-pink top and she has the longest hair, with the contemplative look on her face, one which resembles the Admiral’s expression last Sunday):