annual event

Thankfully, Gilly had a much better appetite today. He worked in his garden for a while, clippers in hand. On the way to radiation we stopped at the local nursery to choose this season’s annuals. He watered them as soon as we got home, but planting may be a slow process. No need to rush. We can all help (if he’ll allow it). One day at a time.

The flowers symbolize hope; promise that our days will be filled with beauty. I attached a picture of our glorious irises at their peak. The staggered perennial blossoms provide us with something new to look forward to as time evolves. Gilly craves the feel of dirt on his hands, but he’ll have to wait until next year. We need to protect his hands.

His eyes are bothering him terribly. I wish there was some guarantee that they will improve when the treatment is done. It is difficult to modify one’s life to adapt to a condition of this nature when it is unclear as to how long it will remain as such. As I’ve mentioned before, one of Gilly’s greatest gifts is his ability to adapt. I wonder if he simply refuses to accept that his eyes may remain this way. I suppose, for now, that’s a good thing. No one has to help him learn to find hope; he’s doing this instinctively; crucial to eventual healing and / or coping with adversity.

I’m typing in the dark, because I’ve moved my office downstairs where it is cooler by day. Gilly is catching a few winks before dinner. I have a cold, or a bout of allergies (hard to tell which), so I may have to find another place to rest my head tonight. I’m pretty pooped, and so my blog entry is significantly shorter this evening.