Ultimately, Tony was the hero of the drama. To him I owe my life. Had he not insisted that we go to the emergency room, or had he not been here, I would have remained under the covers shivering and twisting until I did not know who I was, and then did not know anything at all. But as the forever loving, caring, giving, saintly man that he is, as I lay in that hospital bed, he knelt and lay beside me, loving and caring for me with all his being, until I could raise myself up and walk again. In my gratitude to Tony, I can never deny him anything he asks of me. Nor can my sons.

I’m still extremely tired and want to sleep much of the day. I can readily identify with cancer radiation therapy patients. I’m frustrated at not being able to do everything I want to do. I don’t like going out one day and having to rest the next.

I was so humiliated by the unmowed state of the yard after four weeks that I asked a friend and reliable professional in the business to mow it for me. The gardens, of course, still look like Mother Nature will yet take them back. There are weeds in the Renaissance Herb Garden and in the Tibetan Glacier Garden that I’ve never seen before, of astounding size. The Katsura Monastery Japanese Garden appears almost impenetrable.

I find myself tearing up all the time. There is a level of emotion just beneath the surface that rises very quickly. I’m physically a strong guy in relatively good health, who doesn’t smoke, drink, run with women, or bet on the horses, with a life expectancy of 20 years. I’ve done nothing really bad in life, and I’ve tried really, really hard to do the right thing. I’ve screwed up often enough, but I’ve tried to do what I believe I should do, every time.