Dull thud

I had just lifted Little Brother on the toilet, when I heard Kenji approaching. He mumbled something about making way, so I grabbed Little Brother who had no choice but to hold his pee. Then there was a dull thud: instinctively I ran across the hallway, briskly put Little Brother on the floor with this pants still down, and witnessed how Kenji had fallen on hands and knees. He wanted to run for the toilet but his weak limbs couldn't carry him anymore.

My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

Little Brother was forced to listen to Kenji vomiting loudly. Forget about an escape route; I couldn't protect my boy from seeing his papa's weakness, in spite of my instincts telling me this was hurtful to Little Brother. The culmination of being trapped. My fully grown man fell down - in so many ways.

I wanted Little Brother out of the house as soon as possible, so I left without knowing what was going to happen to Kenji. A year with cancer makes one do things like that, easily. We picked Big Brother up from preschool and by the time we arrived home, Kenji could utter: "Hospitalization at three o'clock."

At the hospital, I had to push Kenji in a wheelchair. His entrance made quite the impression.