It’s when I sing to him at bedtime, and I can tell he’s near sleep as can be, and I reach out and touch the radiator to ensure it’s heating up the way it’s supposed to, keeping him warm throughout, it’s when it hits me the most. That I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in taking care of him, and of K, and the family entire. That they’re fed, warm, comfy, loved. I really think I’m doing as well as anybody, hope it’s not conceited of me. But I do.