It's interesting being sick. Of that, I'm intimately familiar.
But what's more interesting is being sick and unable to speak. About anything. To anyone. Not so much as a word.
Imagine someone like me relegated to listening. Just listening.
Hearing my little boys go on and on about Christmas. And Santa. And their biggest wishes. And dreams.
To hear my wife talk about her plans and my involvement in those plans. Without the ability to vocally object to those plans.
I heard them. I heard them all. Without a peep. Without a protest. Without a question.
I heard one and all without saying so much as a word to one or all.
Recognizing the limits of a body that wouldn't do what I wanted. So I shut up and let others say what they wanted.
A witness to the marvels of life, incapable of saying anything about life.
So I read. And I watched. And I listened.
Wiser for the experience of hearing people who just wanted to talk. And hadn't the remotest interest in my talking back.
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