There is a story about a Cherokee grandfather teaching his grandson about life. 

Grateful and together, we celebrated on Thanksgiving. Now we move forward in Grace to the next moment. And the next.

 After my needles were in, I stared at the ceiling and tried to meditate on my breath. Not today. Frustrated, I smoldered until a set of sounds came together in my conscious mind.

Everyone living with MS knows that each story is individual and unique. The picture of the disease that we paint needs to take into account some of the harsher parts.

Then I wake up. But this is no dream. This is the story of my year-long search for a treatment, a disease-modifying therapy that will halt or at least slow this inexorable disease.

My dogs are thinking “will he ever get up from the chair and go somewhere else so that something interesting might happen?"

My left leg sucks, no two ways about it. But last week it started to suck worse, like a lot worse...

"There is no perfect family."

When we landed, I waited in my seat as usual so as not to hold up deplaning while I embark on yet another rolling airport adventure. I noticed that the soldier was waiting also, and as soon as the last passenger went by, she came over to readjust my crutches and hand me my bag.