I remember him most for the time my husband met the family (my parents) for the first time. We met on neutral ground, at his Mom's home, where he also was able to come and visit.

It was the first time I saw him in his wheelchair. A couple years earlier, we had sat and ate together at my aunt's table. We spoke about Jesus and His "only way" and he told me "if Jesus says that my Muslim and Hindu grandmothers aren't going to heaven, then i'd rather spend eternity with them in hell." Or something to that effect.

His Mom was so proud of him that day. (So was I.)

He gave my future husband the huge thumbs up, minus the actual thumbs up, at a time when everyone else had their doubts.

Turns out he was right about him. (So was I.)

He explained to me that day what it was like having other hands feed him and the insight (he always had tons!) that he gained into each helpful person who lifted the spoon to his lips. Some fed him at their own quick, thoughtless pace, and some waited too long bite to bite. I can not imagine what it was like for him to lose his independence with such methodical certainty.

I can't imagine what it was like for his mother to watch.