This is Ted. He sits in my bedroom … and he never says a word. But every morning after I’ve made the bed and rolled up the blind, Ted looks deeply into my eyes. There’s nothing to add to the moment. No wise words. Just the eyes and the smile. “I’ve got you, Bruce. You may stumble today, or cavort. It’s all the same to me. I just sit here and love you.” At night, Ted watches me from the floor, making sure I’m safe. I don’t know what goes on in his mind. Can I say it’s likely to be a lot of concrete thinking?
There’s a poem on a wall downstairs that reminds me of Ted. Here, I’ll go find it …
I especially like this part:
They do not sweat and whine about their condition
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins
Good man, Ted. You’re a natural, uncluttered kind of guy.
It’s been 22 days since I last wrote. Maybe I’m drying up. Maybe I’m slowing down. Maybe the best is yet to come.