Dad was worn out from the therapy when we spoke this evening. He told me it is very strenuous and for his benefit. His ability to swallow continues to improve. (I received an e-mail from a friend of Dad's who told me her mother had been on a feeding tube for twenty months so I feel Dad is in pretty good shape on this issue.) I read to him five or six e-mails from people in his past. I can't tell you how much that lifts his spirits! He even dictated a note to one of the correspondents! Please don't hesitate to write me and I will make sure Dad hears it. It was interesting to me as I went through therapy with him in the lower level of St. Luke's, a room with no view of the outside world. On the walls are fake windows with outdoor scenes of different seasons and on the ceiling is a make believe sky light. The patients in rehab can't go where you and I can anymore and maybe the pictures of life outside the hospital are incentives to keep pushing! The saddest part of my week in St. Louis came Saturday. I had visited Mom before I went to see Dad. As I told him of my time with Mom, Dad asked, "Does she ever ask about me?" Deep down, I think he realizes that she probably can never form that kind of question again but he doesn't want to give up hope. So much of his life has been taken from him in the last nine months and the slightest encouragement goes so far. I thank all of you who write and pray for us!
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