The fateful hour. A few moments before three oclock I received an email from my dear friend of 20 years and book agent Jacques who has just come home from eight days at New York Presbyterian Med Center. I had no idea he was sick. I called him immediately. His voice was weak and he sounded fragile. He filled me in about his illness and then other scary things too. We talked and talked, cried a little, and I got to be his chaplain and in the end he mine. The last thing he wanted to know was about Asha and if she still made me happy. I told him I didnt know it was possible for any man to be so fortunate, so yes, absolutely, and then I told him about her swimming. As a man who himself was indefatigably athletic until he entered his eighth decade of life, whose knees and heart and lungs have betrayed and undermined him, in hearing about her and the Bay and the Channel he was made buoyant. He will call me in a few days after he sees the doctor again. The Friday that is good.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 22:49:22 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015