Sarah is now 30 and I am 52. If things take their natural turn, the arithmetic is that she probably will watch me die instead of me watching her. I painted that likelihood for her in neon three and a half years ago, but she never wavered in her decision to marry me.
There is an obvious connection to be made between rehabilitating my physical heart and what Sarah has helped me change in my life. Every day that I wake up and everything seems to be working correctly is a good day, and I am grateful for that. But the metaphorical heart — the heart that shows us the difference between simply living and actually feeling alive — is the one I have come to cherish above all else.