I knock lightly on the door that says, "Please knock before entering." A familiar voice says "Come in." My son, George, says he's three feet tall. He shrunk three feet overnight. He's right. Sitting in his wheelchair, that's about what he is, three feet. That's where he's sitting now.

This sunny room has been his home for the last six months. There are all kinds of assistive devices and medical apparatuses lying around. A huge dome-shaped red button sits on his bed, to call the nurses when he needs help. The green heel bos are sitting on the counter under the windows. The front wall has a sink and a mirror. Beside it is the closet and a set of drawers. The remainder of the wall is counter space, open underneath. His heel bos are a soft green knit, just enough of a sock to cover his heels.They help protect his feet from getting pressure sores. A velcro strap, one inch wide, sits on the bedside table. Wrapped around his hand, it holds a fork or a spoon, so he can feed himself. The phone has a heavy plastic piece glued on that holds his hand in place. And several pieces of long red tubing, each individually wrapped, are in the stand beside the bed. They are catheters he has to use at least three times a day. Well, I wish he could use them, but he can't. You see, he can't use his hands. So the nurses have to use them.

And standing so proudly on the window sill are the seven Chinese Elm trees he planted from seed last spring. He was so excited to find the seeds on Ebay. We'd had a Chinese Elm hedge in Fredericton, but they are very difficult to find. They're such an interesting hedge as they really do grow five feet in one year. He'd planted 100 of them a few months earlier, following the directions to a T, starting by putting the seeds in the refrigerator for so long. But only seven have made it to his room and the rest are hoping to survive the winter, without his loving care. These ones are now 12 - 16 inches high.

I see all this with my eyes. With my mind, I see another frame. I see a six-foot muscular fellow standing in front of my cupboard. He commands another look. His light brown hair is gelled today, letting little tendrils fall on his forehead. His green eyes twinkle merrily, drawing attention to the high cheek bones. When he smiles, I see two rows of straight teeth. His complexion is clear and his face smooth. At thirty-four, he's one of the lucky guys who doesn't have to shave a lot.

He has on his favorite polyester fleece jacket, the khaki one with the ribbing. The jacket has long sleeves but he thinks it looks good with his shorts and beige tee shirt. His canvas sandals complete his outfit, no socks. He looks like a fun-loving guy who intends to get the most out of life. But it's his feet that catch my attention. He's leaning on the cupboard, the ball of his right foot resting on the left one. It's wierd. That's how his father often stood. But George is not imitating his father. He never saw his father stand one way or another. He seemed unlucky from the start. His one-of-a-kind father was drowned when George was five weeks old.

And a month and a half ago on September 8, 2007, my fun-loving son fell 15 feet from a tree. He landed on a rock pile, huge rocks that someone had cleared from the nearby field years ago. He had stepped on a broken limb. He and a couple of friends were 'coon hunting. They had already got one 'coon and had another one treed. George, being the carefree type he is, decided he'd go up a nearby tree and shine his light over and check on the new 'coon. His friend, Gerald, said "I don't think that's a good idea, George." But George thought that he who had been climbing trees since he was knee high to a grasshopper had nothing to fear. But how wrong he was!

George was paralyzed. He is now a quadrapalegic but is very blessed to be able to use his arms and wrists.