Last days of Joe

A few weeks later, I watched Joe make himself an egg.  He wasn’t sturdy on his feet and he kept forgetting what he was doing.  He cracked an egg into the frying pan.  The electric stove hadn’t gotten hot yet.  The egg was barely white when he put it onto his plate.  He ate the egg as best he could, trying to scoop it up with his fork.  He didn’t say anything and I didn’t either, but I knew I had to find a way to get him some food.

As he finished his egg, he stood up quickly and started heading for the bathroom.  His pants were falling down and I saw shit had spotted the back of his pants.  Then I noticed that there were spots of shit on the brown carpet in his bedroom.  Clearly, this was a problem too.  I didn’t clean it up.  I didn’t mention it.  I sat there and when he came back I suggested getting him some help.