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Bernard JOLY wrote: > > My dearest mother, > > You will not read this message : you are now so emotive I dare not show it to > you. I will come to see you with some flowers ; my sister, with whom you live, > > will chat with us for some time, and she will leave to do something > else. > > Then, I will tell you again about the list I created for my fellow PWP's and > those who care for them. I will explain the new friends, the dialog popping > out of our strange machines, the support to those who cannot cope. You will > say "I am pleased you make yourself useful" ; your eyes will become brighter, > and your smile will light up the room for a while. Then fatigue will overwhelm > > you, your slim body will shrink back in the armchair you no longer leave, and > your face, so beautiful some years ago, will become that of a very old, > very tired lady. > > You were hit first by PD. You arrogantly ignored it, until you were twisted > like > a question mark and painfully blocked by cramps. When it was my turn, we were > already so close to each other, and I was so willing to avoid hurting > you, that I pretended to be OK. But I was fighting already, in a better way, > more aware of possible errors, determined to serve others before becoming, > some day, a very old man in an armchair. > > Mom, you gave me this life, and I like it. > > I love you > > Bernard > (with kind help of Teresa Marcy for careful translation) thank you bernard your writing gave me chills (it's 90 degreee here) I still have a copy of " the old man" I believe you were the author. another touchin gpiece that brought me to tears. keep writing, i love it lisa in paradise ;[log in to unmask]