Remission
The old man is doing much better, sitting up in bed and feeding himself; he even got out of bed and walked around a bit earlier in the day. It was a huge surprise; the doctors had gravely assured us for weeks that we should not get our hopes up, that things would just get worse and worse.
He catches my eye, and I catch his, and we both look away. As excited as we should be, neither of us has spoken all day, at least not about anything meaningful.
Death-bed confessions and miraculous recoveries don’t mix very well.
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