This week I've been as optimistic as humanly possible. I've been to the hospital five days straight to see my grandfather, and every day I rejoice in every little bit of progress he makes.
- Both of his eyes are open.
- He knows where he is.
- He ate yogurt and oatmeal for breakfast.
- He chuckled when I said something funny.
- They moved him out of ICU.
- They took the bandage off his head.
- He's not thrashing his legs about like he did before.
- His voice is strong enough to yell at the nurse.
If there are any negatives, signs that his progress is slower than expected or that his recovery is in jeopardy, I simply refuse to see them. In fact, if someone "helpfully" mentions any such thing, I will argue vehemently.
Deep inside, I know I am acting contrary to all I have learned in 41 years of living. But now I must be an optimist. I cannot bear the alternative.