My Funny Valentine
When I worked at the nursing home, I met a patient who had terminal lung cancer. His name was James. James had spent his life living rather hard. He'd been in airplane crashes in the Korean war, car accidents, bar fights and had been badly burned in a housefire caused by a burning cigarette that dropped one night as he slept. Admittedly his appearance was off-putting. He was missing some portion of some of his fingers and had scars on his arms and hands, though he wore long sleeved shirts to hide what he could. His hair had never quite grown back in a place or two, and what was left was gray and thin. One ear was notched and missing a portion of the outer rim. He was battle scarred by the life he'd lived. When I met James for the first time, I took one look at him and thought of an old dog I had dearly loved named Mutt. Mutt was torn and scarred by his life chasing and catching bears and wildcats in the woods, indul...