In 2005, one of my vertebral discs was a bit smooshed and needed to be cut back from hitting my spinal cord. When I came out of surgery, I couldn’t feel my legs much, nor move my feet. I was taken to a rehabilitation clinic for physical therapy. I was on the spinal injuries floor. (BTW, if you own a motorcycle, you might just wanna sell it or something. I’m just sayin’.) And every day, when I came back tired from three hours of therapy and still needed help to get in bed, I got a bit depressed.

Then Gary would return. Gary was my roommate. He was a father and grandfather. And one day, walking on the streets of Arizona, he simply tripped on the curb. And he broke his neck, and lost control of everything below it. They were building a wheelchair he could use his chin to drive.

And he often apologized to me for the noise when the staff came to visit him at night.

Gary’s courage made me pull myself together, made me focus and work. His courage put to shame anyone I met in the clinic – me as well.