And talking he is. Sure, we know it's the morphine helping him along, but his thinking and recollection are crystal clear. He is not foggy, groggy or soggy. Wait -- I can't vouch for the third thing. They asked him if he wanted his water with or without ice. I asked him if he wanted it shaken or stirred. He smiled and said he would like rye and water.
All I know is that I can barely describe the jubilation I felt when I saw his bed being wheeled out of the recovery room, and got a glimpse of his tired but smiling face. It is fitting that on the American Thanksgiving Day, I would be filled with more gratitude, faith and love than I could ever have imagined. It has been a good day. And for that, I am truly grateful.