Silent Courage

Next to me sleeps a man. As I sit poking my keyboard, I can't help but notice a couple of things. First off, his roughly calloused hands are a distinct indication of his solid work ethic. Next, I see the bruises and cuts up his arms showing maybe a hint of carelessness, stubbornness or the needle marks due to countless blood transfusions. I look around this small room and its cruelty for a man with such a background. His 3 x 6 window is a cruel punishment, a tease of the outside world that he so dearly longs to taste again. This is a man whom over the past couple decades has become my hero. This man knows not his future as he lies in this cheap bed. The ailment that controls his body throws him through loops, but by his upbeat personality one wouldn't know he had a thing wrong with him.
As he so greatly declares "I have nothing wrong with me, I feel fine." How dearly I wish to believe these words. Over the past few days, this man has spoken many words of council to me. I have listened very intently. He's become a best friend. As I continue my typing, I sit in awe at his great strength. How he can lie in this prison and be so happy, I will never know. This sign of silent courage gives me hope and strength with the trials I encounter in my life.

He calls me Superman. But the real hero lies next to me, My Grandpa.