Living

Dear Gal & David,

My dad was born in 1930 in Belfast, Northern Ireland. He spent a lot of his childhood in bed with bronchial asthma. Until he was 12 he spent more time out of school than in school. My dad says that he remembers two times when he nearly died. He remembers one time in particular. He remembers one night when the doctor and his parents were over his bed (doctors made house calls in those days) and there he lay barely being able to breathe. They were all looking down at him. The doctor told his parents that my dad was so ill that he didn’t think that he’d make it thorough the night. My dad remembers hearing his mother crying and he remembers deciding that he was going to live. He was six years old at the time. And he did live, and he does live. Life if powerful. Life wants to live.

I’ve been thinking about this story because of what happened with Tikva last week. I’ve been thinking that I hope that neither of you are worried about being strong for Tikva. In my dad’s memory it was powerful for him that his mom was crying. It meant that she really wanted him to thrive and that was part of his motivation for deciding to live.

Love,
Serena