McKale’s leg began to move. We’re not breaking out the champagne yet, but could it be that our luck has finally changed? Alan Christoffersen’s diary Monday morning, I got McKale up at six. I bathed, toileted, and dressed her. I got her into her chair, then made her breakfast. As I went about this routine, I thought of that saying, Today is the first day of the rest of your life. It fit, just not as optimistically as it was intended. This was my new daily routine—something I would do until the two of us were old and gray. I hated to leave her alone, but I had no choice. It would have to happen someday. “You sure you’ll be all right today?” “Yes. We need to get used to this,” she said. I kissed her on the forehead, then went to get myself ready. While I was showering, McKale screamed, “Al! Come here, quick!” I pulled a towel around myself and rushed dripping wet into the room. McKale was smiling. It was the first time I had seen her smile since the accident. “What?”
