Chapter 11 - Learning to Walk Again
Physical therapy was worse than surgery.
Pain had rules in a hospital.
Recovery didn't.
Some mornings I could walk farther than expected.
Other mornings three steps made me cry.
My therapist, Dana, never pitied me.
“Again.”
“I hate you.”
“Again.”
“You're enjoying this.”
“Again, Sloan.”
So I walked.
One step.
Another.
Another.
Fourteen became my number.
Every session, I tried to reach fourteen more steps than the session before.
Months passed.
The cast disappeared.
Then the brace.
Then one crutch.
Then none.
The first time I walked into Briar House without assistance, Mr. Danner cried.
I pretended not to notice.
“You're staring,” I said.
“Dust.”
“Of course.”
“Terrible dust today.”
We both laughed.
The restoration center was almost finished.
Children from the nearby town had painted a mural for the education room.
Blue water.
Green trees.
Fish.
At the bottom someone had written:
WHAT WE REPAIR BECOMES PART OF WHO WE ARE.
May you like
I stood before those words for a long time.
Grandfather would've liked them.
