of the oversized Adirondack chairs on my porch and enjoy the sunrise. I am starting to navigate the kitchen without killing myself. Today, I managed to break a few eggs with one hand and made scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast for myself and Billy, who has become my constant companion these past two weeks.

I am also proud that I did not burn down the kitchen. Having the cabinets lowered to accommodate me was a brilliant idea. After Billy goes home, I walk out to the porch and see Susan sitting on the step with her dog. Knowing what I do now softens my heart. She looks up when she hears the door open.

"Hi, Mike. Can I sit with you?"

"Sure. Come up here and sit next tome."

Susan runs up the steps, and her dog jumps on my lap.

"Who is this, cutie?"

"Her name is Anya. My mommy got her for me for Christmas. She likes you. Does your arm hurt today, Mike?"

"It hurts a lot, but it will get better. I have to be patient and give it time to heal."

"Can I touch your arm? Billy lets me touch his leg."

I tense immediately. I don't want Susan's hand on my arm, and then I hear her say, "I won't hurt your arm. I just want to make it better for you. Mommy always rubs my tummy when I feel sick, and it makes me feel better."

With great reservation, I unpin the sleeve of my shirt, but I keep on the protective sleeve. It's bad enough