His last day outside was unseasonably warm. Only days later, the ground would be covered by a thick blanket of snow that would keep him bundled up inside, desperately trying to warm his hands and feet which seemed to have lost all ability to retain heat. But on that day, the sunshine drew him out. He stood steps away from our porch and let the sun's rays warm him, breathing in the fresh air, and taking it all in with the sense of worship and wonder that came so naturally to him.
I, standing in the kitchen, snapped a picture through the large window. There was a gravity to the moment - a sense of rightness in the midst of a chaotic and scary time. Was this a sign he was improving? I wondered. Surely, for him to voluntarily go outside, he must be gaining strength?
And then the clouds covered the sun, and chilled to the bone, he came back inside.
He would not go back outside on his own volition again. Instead, his body would be carried out; his soul already in the presence of the Father.
