Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. His mother could remember bringing him home from the hospital- both after his birth and the accident. He was a jolly baby; round with pink cheeks. He always was happy, that was something the world couldn’t take from him.

The first few days after the tragedy had been hardest. He neither spoke nor ate. Until one day they found a solution. She would come in and cradle his head in her arms and sing. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. He had progressed as far as his damaged brain could take him.

Sometimes, whole afternoons were spent thinking about what Ernie had lost, because of his willingness to try anything. His home, a family, the chance to… To what? To become bitter? To work for everything to have it blow up in his face?

He seemed happy now, but not in the way he was before. This was a happiness in child-like ignorance. A helpless happiness. The happiness of a newborn baby…