Thankfully, a few months later, I got the best Christmas gift of all: my dad's life. I went up to Portland and visited him in the hospital. He was in the hospital for three months. He couldn't even talk or eat the first week in the hospital. My dad always tells me that when I first saw him in the hospital, I stood over him, grim faced, like I was an angel guarding him. I did not say a word. I just stood there. And though many people do not know this, while I was standing there, a tear rolled down my cheek and landed on the hospital blanket covering my dad's injured leg. Just one tear. I did not break into tears or sob; I just silently cried all my misery into one tear; one tear of healing, which I gave to my dad . . .