Today, my thirty-eight year old stroke patient asked me when he would walk again. He asked me this after he'd walked a dozen feet using a hemi-walker, me holding onto the waist band of his sweat pants while his mother following closely behind with the wheelchair. "But you are walking.", I said, even though I knew what he meant. "I promised my son I would walk again. He wants me to climb a tree with him. I promised."
Sometimes this job breaks my heart. And a promise to a five year old boy reminds me to take nothing in life for granted.