Years after a stroke, and wondering if the right decision was made
Cheryl loved to dance. There wasn’t a time in our house when the the kids weren’t jumping up and down on the furniture, the radio blasting, and her body swaying in rhythm. Ironically, we were dancing when it happened. It was her fortieth birthday. The kids laughed and clapped as I dipped her dramatically and she sprung back into my arms. And then she crumpled. Tony, my youngest, giggled hysterically …




What I found most disturbing about the man’s arm was not the deep, stellate laceration on the underside of his biceps.






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