He counted his money and he counted his time. They said he had 6 months if he was treated, maybe a month if not. If a month it would be, then for a month he would metaphorically flush away all that was bad in his life and paint all that was good onto the bathroom walls of his heart.

He quit his job, sold his house, liquidated his life’s savings, and hit the open road. His plan? To give every cent away, to enjoy what little time he had left, to travel the road less traveled, to smell the roses, to find moments of joy, and to make a difference where he could even if he had to struggle for every last breath.

On the fourth day on the road he stopped at a road side park to rest for a few minutes where he found a beat up rusted Geo resting on four wheel rims and being held together with some bailing wire and duct tape. Sitting on the nearby curbside was a petite brunette who had one black eye, one arm in a sling, and a baby under the other. When asked, she revealed her name “Joy” and that of her baby “Rose.”