The Dependent

A deep, encompassing fear.
Of the now and of the then.
Something that filters everything.
Every sight and emotion.
The tangible things as well.
I can't help but feel his hand in mine
everywhere
this child I call uncle.
He needs me or maybe not.
I cannot tell.
But my life has become a pattern
with him as the orchestrator.
My life as the mundane caregiver.
I buy him food and take him out,
perhaps if only for a walk
a trip to the library.
But the divide is immense.
He comes from a different time.
And yet his mind isn't of that time
but instead it is that of a child
and I am struggling to see that balance.
How can someone be a child like I was
and yet leave me struggling to relate.
It feels like a fog, me just grasping around
looking for some sort of purchase.
I don't mean to be sad with him,
or angry.
When he smiles I try to mean it
when I smile back.
And I do love him. And I worry.
I worry all the time.
When he ends everything ends.
My life will change and I won't be able
to frame it as I have for the last three years.
I will be only myself again.
I will never have to hold his hand
as much to help him balance as to provide
comfort.
And he won't understand even if I tell him
that deep down that is what I need.
A helping hand as much for balance
as for comfort.
But we are inexorably separated.
We are drawn together.
Or maybe not.
I'll never know
and he won't ever be able to say
if anything I do matters. And I can't tell
him that everything he does matters.