Rosa 'Betsy Sinclair'

 I had already on my breast a little sign that read: - Closed for demolition-.

And here you have me painting the walls, opening the windows, decorating

the table with a yellow flower, with which  autumn pays for its charms.

Mexican poet Carlos Pellicer 

A few months before my Rosemary died on 9 December 2020, my cardiologist called me. He noticed that I had applied for a right knee replacement. He told me, “Alex, you must cancel this as you will have to take care of Rosemary.” This I did and until now I have not had any problems with that knee. My rheumatologist told me that cycling was good exercise to keep my knees in shape.

A couple of days ago I went cycling for an hour. When I returned my right knee had that familiar pain of 5 years ago. I have to be careful going up and down the stairs to my room as I tend to lose my balance.

This has all resulted on my thinking about my age. I look at Niño, who while being in remission from his lymphatic cancer of the intestines, looks at me sometimes with a faraway look. He refuses to walk around the block with me on sunny days. I have written before how when he stares at me I think that he is telling me, “Alex, don’t die before Niña and me. Who would take care of us?”

At my age I have four Vancouver friends my age, or older, who have intact marbles. The rest of those my age or over have all since died. I do have a cousin in Buenos Aires who is 82.

This isolation of living alone with Niño and Niña is now really hitting home and can now see that my immediate future is about to end.