(...) I have so many memories of him listening to opera, sketching, painting, sculpting. Although he doesn't paint anymore, he still sees. He still has the artistic impulse. (...) The urge is still there, even if the physical ability is not ...
(...) For just a few minutes, everything almost feels normal again. My mum isn't dead, and we're not pretending she's gone to Paris. She's popped out to the store, and she'll be back shortly. How sweet that would be.
(...) It's amazing. My father is so appreciative of the love he receives. Each visit is an incredible gift, to him, and to me, as though we're both drinking deeply from the same well, for one last time. He's always talking about how much he loves me. What a genius he thinks I am. How glad he is that Carla is part of our (tiny) family. These are things he's never told me before. I'm so glad we have this time together.
(...) Sometimes when we are talking, my dad will stop and sigh, and close his eyes. It's then that I know that he knows. about my mum. About everything.
My dad died yesterday. I spent the whole night with him, holding his hand (...). Just last week, on his 99th birthday, I asked him how old he thought he was. Grinning, he said: "22 and a half?" Now he's gone to Paris, to meet my mum."
photographs by Philipp Toledano via
Stunning!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteThey are, and so moving. Thanks, Wim!
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