His body betrays him.
My mother had surgery two weeks ago, and he needs a week to recover.
His body betrays him.
I do not believe he is capable of living by himself any longer. He just needs help.
His body betrays him.
A big part of me thinks he should no longer drive by himself, either.
His body betrays him.
He is only 67—68 in 33 days.
His body betrays him.
He suffers chronic pain in his stomach and back.
His body betrays him.
His terrible circulation makes it impossible to keep the almost 15 pounds of fluid off of his stomach. It weighs him down. He is exhausted.
His body betrays him.
He just bought a new recliner—it helps lift him out of a seated position, because he struggles with the simple acts of sitting down and standing up.
His body betrays him.
He doesn’t have the energy to go to cardiac rehabilitation, which could improve his quality of life. He has to make decisions.
His body betrays him.
He is too afraid to travel and stray far from his house, so he and my mother did not go to Florida this winter.
His body betrays him.
So much of his confidence is gone.
His body betrays him.
He sits in front of an oscillating heater set at 85 degrees, with a blanket draped over his lap and gloves to keep his hands warm. Because the cold, winter weather is unwelcoming and makes him feel like a stranger inside his own home.
His body betrays him.
He has relinquished a lot of his responsibility as chair of Muskegon High School’s Class of 1961 50th year reunion this August.
His body betrays him.
He will not live to see his beautiful granddaughter grow up. He has learned to love her in a manner even he didn't think was possible. Her presence has been one of his greatest joys.
His body betrays him.
He sits. He waits.
His body betrays him.
We hope. For good days. For warm days. For a momentary relief from the pain. For a laugh. For a smile. For his eyes to light up like they used to.
His body betrays him.
I love him, I have learned much from him, and I am not ready to no longer hear him call me pal, or tell me he is proud of me, or tell me that he loves me back. But watching him, watching this man struggle in that body.
His body betrays him.
He is alive. But it is not the same. Not for me. Not for my mother. Not for my sister. And certainly not for him.
His body betrays him.
