A Persistent Feeling of Frailty
November 20th is the one year anniversary of my collision with a tree that nearly killed me. I think of life as BA and AA, Before Accident and After Accident. The tree won, I lost.
I have foggy recollections of a semi-conscious trip in a life-flight helicopter to a regional trauma center. The noise, the pain, the oxygen mask, persistently drip in the back of my mind.
Three months later, friends asked if I felt “funny,” when I started driving again. They gently substituted “funny” for “afraid.”
I caught an awkward glimpse of frailty – life slipping away. It doesn’t hit you till later. Every time I leave home, my wife says drive carefully. It’s not casual. She lives BA and AA, too.
I remember the touch of people who rushed to stand beside my bed.
Two college students built a wheel chair ramp. Friends brought food.
My wife put her life on hold for weeks. I remember Mark setting up the Christmas tree while I watched from a wheelchair, my neck brace pushing my chin up.
People did things for me that I couldn’t do for myself. I feel the frailty, even now. But there’s more. Gratitude persists. Compassion drips in the back of my mind.
More not less:
In some ways, I’m less than what I was; in others ways I’m more. Compassion expands our worth in the giving and receiving.
The people who cared told me I mattered. Today, I spend more time letting people know they matter.
Here’s my first AA post: The Reason I haven’t Posted in a Week. It’s a little rambling because of medication.