Near the end of his life, I had brought him home from the VA hospital for an afternoon. It was raining that day and the front yard was mushy. After our visit, I pushed him in his wheelchair across the yard and out to the car when one of the front wheels of the chair dove into the soggy ground. Down he went and I fell over and into the mud with him. For a moment, I thought he might have been injured and I was worried. We paused there for a few seconds and said nothing.
We then we started to laugh in our wet muddy mess. I was so happy that he was able to enjoy something and I couldn't have loved him more at that moment. This was our best last day together.
This was the last painting he ever created. Even with all those unfinished strokes and odd colors that had changed him and his expressions substantially, he was still mountain strong to me.