He was to be reaching Montana soon, the last leg of his journey. He is too old, too old to be traveling, but he had to do this. Its his dream to take the train through Montana, his favorite stage. He saw pictures of the sunrise and sunset online and on the cameras of his friends who did go there. His son went to Montana before he passed away. He died of an drug overdose. The old man didn't take it so well. He loved his son more then anything, more than life itself and when he found out his son die from a drug overdose, he went inside himself. He wouldn't talk to anyone, he would just sit in his favorite rocking chair staring out the window thinking. He would think about all the good times he had with his son. How he would sit on his legs as he read to him, told him stories and rocked him to sleep. How is it that he didn't know that his son was having trouble and was taking drugs? Drugs. Why didn't he come and talk to him? Why didn't he notice his son was different when he came to visit last? He should have known he was his father. All day he sat there thinking these things, thinking it was all his fault. His daughter saw how he was taking the death of her brother and suggested a trip. A trip to the place he wanted to go to the most. That place happens to be Montana. When he was a little boy he dreamed of going there and riding on the back of a black stallion. Now he was able to. This trip might do him good. Might help him move on. Might help him accept the death of his son. This was the healing train and he was a passenger on this train.