My 4-year-old grandson Baxter, with whom I’ve shared many a deep conversation on life, has asked his Nana:
“What’s the matter with Granddad.”
As he learns more about the complexities of language, he finally noticed something was wrong with my stroke-addled speech. And so the last bastion of normal conversation with Baxter, for me at least, had ended.
The effect of a stroke now had one more victim, and then future conversations between us will be tainted with his knowledge that I don’t speak properly.
I have one recourse for continuing unbridled conversation – my other grandson, Arthur, is almost two, and is just forming his first sentences.
He needs someone to talk to.
And so do I.