The poetry in all you, joining me in this sonic boom has been an inspiration. We frankly had our best Northwestern tailgate, admittedly on the most awkward of occasions.
My 87 year old grandfather on hearing the boom, logically questioned why not him. Life now seemingly poor hearing and daily walks. I honestly have spent only a few visits with him in memory, but joining him on dewy morning walks through ancient Kathmandu hillsides are now etched in me.
A delicious poetry, was my restaurant trip last week, which I can do no longer. Gopi told my mom he’d start each morning with Hindu mantra, I took solace in them sharing samosa chat, no matter the outcome.
I am the boom. Tears do still flow, but mostly now, only when the beauty of our poetry is just too much.
Update: We’re at radiation treatment 10, chemo dose 7. I am precipitously weaker and lethargic than when diagnosed, though stable since treatment. My current isolation is perfect, thank you. My walker continues as my best friend, and we’ve added my own wheelchair to go along.