I saw him as an ingenious and infinitely complex device. Actually he was a person. But in the hospital he wasn't a person but a beautiful and delicate watch being ground into the dirt and rummaged by vandals. Warm and huggable, but now yellow, swollen and perforated. Destroyed. It wasn't casual, but it wasn't caring either, and what used to be him was tattered; his eyes when open, looking about wildly about like a cow at slaughter. God, why am I writing this. I should be looking at him his he was, full of energy ready and willing to help, helping, always helping. Bouncing Jared, hugging Robyn, roughing Karma the dog. Every part of the house was a project to be finished. Look at the platform for the stove I built, look at the deck, the shade, the shelf, the porch, the beam, the plants, the shed, the bathroom, the driveway…
Then this precision clock was ground into the dirt, the parts scattered and bent, no more to keep time, just parts. Parts. He wasn't parts. He was the watch, a warm watch, a big warm watch.
