My mentation would not change; I would still have all of my mental faculties. So I would know what was happening to me. They would have splints made to keep my joints from stiffening up, keeping me as comfortable as possible, but eventually, at the end, I would drown in my own secretions, not having the muscles to even swallow any more. He laid it all out for my mother and me very clearly. We left the neurologists office, my Mom said “Don’t worry, we’ll get another opinion. I don’t believe it.” My Mom was a rock, never shed a tear. I said, “Thank you, I love you Mom”, and told her not to worry. I got in my car, cranked the radio, I remember Van Halen came on, “Hot for Teacher”, as I drove to my old high school and requested my transcripts. I was going to go to college. I had looked into it a little when my fingers started to become weak and knew the steps I needed to take, filling out an application and sending my transcripts was the first step. I figured if I had ten years to live. By the winter's end General Greene had become the quartermaster general, and things, including supplies of food, improved.One day Amanda had a letter for me, neatly folded and wax sealed with my name in flowing script on the outside. "Somebody knows who you are and where to find you," the woman said, arching an eyebrow.I sniffed the missive, snapped open the seal and spread out the heavy paper. The salutation was "You Great Fool" so I pretty sure the person who wrote it knew me. I scanned down to the bottom of the page and read, with some difficulty, the signature, "never y'r ob't serv't, Madam A. G. Smollett." I smiled as I was sure I meant to do."Where did you get this?" I asked, waving the letter."Boy brung it. Who's it from?"I showed her the signature, but she just shook her head.The letter read, as I recall, at about three oversized words per line, "You may remember me from Boston where I was known as Singleton and from New York where you graciously made me a widow again. I saw.
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