My stay at the hospital went slowly, the rigors of my body healing itself left me drained and lacking the desire to do anything more than change the channels on the television. I hated television, usually watching it only when a classic movie or a good ballgame were on. Because I was a cop, they didn't put anyone in the room with me. Perhaps this was both a curse and a blessing. I couldn't imagine how the stay would have been if some poor slob were next to me, spewing drivel about their kids or their jobs, or, worse, their life. The Lord works in mysterious ways, they say, and I guess this trickles down to the hospital administrators.

With nothing to do, and the visitations slowing when people realized I was fine and wasn't going to die or anything exciting like that, I had plenty of time to think. I'd tried that before, tried to make heads or tails out of what I'd experienced over the previous week, but I had come to no clear answers. I know life operated that way, that most episodes in life never really have an ending or solution. If everything were as clear-cut as a mystery novel or a sitcom, life would be boring.