Tears of Joy

Monday 30 April, Queen's Day

She wanted to eat breakfast with me, as in better days. And so she did. I collected the newspaper from the mailbox downstairs, as I normally would, we both had a cappuccino and she ate a whole bowl of soya fruity yoghurt wth muesli and a peeled tangerine.

A 'normal' morning, I discovered, is quite populated. The nurse comes in around 8:00AM to do the toilettage and check on everything else, assisted by a soignante, the care ladies who are here around the clock. Then the home care coordinator came by to, well, coordinate. Before she even left, the new doctor, Marie Frings, who replaces our GP, Isabelle Willemot, this week, came by and familiarized herself with Lara's situation. Shortly after lunch the physical therapist stopped by to connect her to a breathing exercise machine.

But the whopper of the day came shortly after noon. I had them wait in the kitchen until everybody else had left, and then announced them to Lara from the doorstep as two special friends on a surprise visit.

And in walk John and Marie Zderic.

They have known Lara practically from the day she was born and are now both in their late eighties, living in San Francisco. Lara always refers to them as my "pseudo parents". On a trip to London and Paris, they made a quick detour by TGV to Brussels, a trip of about one hour and a half. The last time we had laid eyes on them was the day after Xmass 2010, about three weeks before Lara truend into the hospital.

Lara's mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. She put both of her hands in front of her face and starting weeping tears of joy that just wouldn't stop. The emotions were mutual. Lara just couldn't believe that the two of them just whisked in and wihisked out again. They stayed for about an hour, engaging Lara in willing conversation. Then they proceeded to the Grand Place of Brussels, a world heritage sight to behold, before taking the train back to Paris around five. What a show. I was so happy to see Lara so happy.

After everybody had left, including her friend Liliana, who flies back to Madrid, all of her energy was pretty much gone. People see her while she is putting her best foot forward and conclude that she is not doing half as badly as I had made them believe before arriving. What they don't fully realize is how much effort it takes for Lara to keep up the level of alacrity and wit to which she feels her audience is entitled, coming from as far as they have come. Someone discussing French politics in an informed manner can't be anywhere close to death, or so the occasional visitors surmises. How wrong they might be to thinl that.

Until they would see her afterwards when her poor body slumps back into the big pillow and she just conks out from sheer exhaustion. But worth every single joule.