They’re like clocks. I suppose that’s why I do what I do now. A broken clock can be fixed, repaired, even improved. The same could be said about people. I used to heal. Used to repair, nurse the broken back to health... but I couldn’t take it when I wasn’t able to. To watch as someone you’ve cared for wastes away... to look at a clock that cannot work any longer, to know that in its prime it was a beauty to behold only to see it as the wasting shell it is then and there...
 
...it’s easy, you know. To tell a person their clock or watch can’t be fixed. It’s hard to tell a father his son will never walk again. To tell a mother that believed in you her daughter is dead. When a watch dies, when the ticking stops, I can at least know that a new watch is a reality. Not so much for sons and daughters...