Betty had long ago told herself she would never ever let anyone do this for her. She took pride in living this long and still being able to take care of herself.

Through the gossamer curtains a familiar form shadowed the porch for only a moment. Betty set her mouth in a determined line. She grabbed onto her walker. She hefted herself to her feet, leaning heavily on weak arms she now wished she had been training, lifting more than a half gallon of milk or a tea kettle.

She straightened and tried her legs, they held. Lifting the walker, she set it back down inches ahead of her and stepped forward on her good leg, sliding the weak one up beside it. Muscles groaned, but it felt good to use them. Again, she moved 6 more inches, every step closer to the door. Success was on the other side.

Step, step, finally, the doorknob was within reach, twist and pull. It hit the walker. Two steps sideways, she cleared the door and pushed the screen door handle. Reaching up, back popping, she grabbed the mail.