In August of 2008, after years of being a climber, I
fell nearly 20’ onto a rock the size of a basketball driving my right heel into
it, breaking my heel bone clean in half and dislocating (rare) my ankle while
breaking bones in it AND tearing several tendons. Traumatic is a gross understatement. I had to wait two weeks for surgery due to
the grotesque swelling. I was so jacked
up on pain meds (I suck at those) I saw butterflies on the walls…my kids were
dwarfs one night..and the walls moved constantly. Ultimately they did the surgery before I was
really ready because gangrene set in right at the break. I signed my leg away that morning because the
doctor didn’t think she could save it. I
was happy to do so after two weeks of hell.
I will never (as long as I live) forget that pain. I
never thought anything could be worse.
Then I lost my wife of 16 years….and I’d gladly have jumped off a
boulder twice as high and crushed both legs, heels, ankles..anything to avoid that
pain. At the time I’d have given so much
more to not lose her. I lost so much
(monetarily as well as emotionally) over the ensuing year of a bitter
divorce. If there’s a rock bottom I
found it, fell through it, and kept going even deeper. My very soul was broken. There are weeks upon weeks that I don’t
remember out of sheer agony. I cried
more than I thought humanly possible. I
went two months without seeing my kids or even speaking to them on the phone
(not her fault..tactical faux pas by her inexperienced attorney). I held on by the thinnest of margins and
eventually stood to fight back.
I stood again
(literally) due to the remarkable skills of a team of surgeons lead by Dr. Furry
at Durango Orthopedic and one very determined physical therapist. I vividly remember my first day of
therapy. My surgeon came with me because
I was “too bull headed to listen (wrote that one down)”. Eric was my therapist. I’ll never forget his name. As I was wheeled in he had all the implements
I’d use through my therapy lined up on the wall. Wheelchair (I was in it), walker, crutches,
and a cane. I still remember looking at
those “contraptions” and looking him dead in the eye after his explanation of
my progression and telling him “You can put that walker and cane back in the
closet…I won’t be needing those”. I’d
never touch either. 8 months would go by
and right in the middle of that time my divorce ensued. Add on more pain. Eventually I’d lose all I had in the fight to
remain a full time dad, yet I kept my leg and once again learned to get back up. When I say everything, I mean all but the
basics. I had a bed, a dresser, a truck
I inherited (along with the payment) from the divorce, and a couch. There were a few other bits and pieces but I
started over.
I’d eventually give
it all on the negotiating table to keep the kids here and remain their full
time dad. I’d be “awarded” 50% custody
and immediately I’d realize being a single father with no family within 1000
miles would far surpass the difficulties I’d faced the previous year. It’s never gotten easier and as my daughter
reached the teen years I’d realize just how difficult life could be. I’d proudly watch my son graduate high
school, meet his first love, and carry on to his first semester of
college. I’d eventually not only call my
ex-wife my friend but I’d realize she’s one I am able to talk to in some of the
rough seas I’d face going forward. She’d
be the one to still reach out and help me when I didn’t understand a pre-teen,
and then teen, daughter. We’d still
balance one another’s weaknesses as parents.
I’d find love again and lose it again but this time with the tools to
not only cope but to have the clarity to be quiet, listen, and learn from the
pain. I’d pay off the mountain of debt
through pure grit and hard work. I
learned the beautiful art of creating boundaries for myself. Both boundaries of how far I am willing to go
and how much I am willing to take. I’d
learn the critical skill of walking away.
I’d not only walk again but I’d run when I was told I “would never”. I’d fight again when I was told it was
impossible and too dangerous. I’d
survive a stroke (or three) and a couple of broken hearts (I’m still not sure
which is worse).
Through these times I’ve
learned what true love looks like and what true pain feels like. I’ve learned what kindness looks like and
what real friends are. I’d close my
circle of friends and understand that the smaller the circle, the deeper the
depth. I’m still learning and growing each
day. I’m still refining and learning to
say when enough is enough and yet know when the fight is worth it. I’ve gone on to survive my second motorcycle
crash (22 years apart). I look back at
my life and I want to laugh. My biggest
hero is my dad and through it all he’s stood there not only as my father but as
my biggest fan. His living vicariously
through me, cheering me on, picking me up, and being an amazing example fuels
my fire beyond words. I simply want to
make him proud and I’ve learned that the best way I can do that is to get up
and keep going. Get knocked down 7 times…get
up 8 and start firing back! I hope that
someday my kids can look up to me and appreciate all the risks, crashes, pain
and lessons I’ve learned and wholeheartedly say “damn my dad was pretty kick
ass” and take that ability to endure and go on to the greatness I know lies
within each of them.
I worry daily that
my time is short. I’ve beat the odds so
many times I wonder if I’ve used all 9 lives or if it’s just my way of learning…being
so hard headed I figure it’s a bit of both.
More than anything I worry that the aneurysm in my head will someday
give way and without a chance to say goodbye I’ll leave this place. I am still so full of faults and yet I
embrace the opportunity to learn and grow.
I still believe in love and can even turn to an ex-wife and talk about
our hopes for our own individual futures, that in itself is a form of love. I fear I’ll not make enough of a mark on the
hearts and minds of my kids before I go.
I know when the day comes I’ll go down fighting for that last breath and
the chance for just one more round…one more day..one more chance to live an
amazing day. I don’t want to be
famous. I just want to live a life worth
remembering. I often talk about the best
day ever but what most fail to see is that there’s something amazing in each
day I’m given. I try and make gratitude
a daily practice. I don’t wait for the
best parts of my day…I seek them out. I
don’t know what lies ahead but after so many times of getting back up, and yet
realizing the fear discussed in this very paragraph, you start to realize maybe
it’s okay to think about a future. For so
long I’ve simply lived in the moment.
Never looking beyond what I thought was “today”. Slowly I’m realizing that maybe “today”
encompasses the entirety of my life and it’s okay to see the bigger
picture. Its okay to dream, plan, hope
and wonder beyond the mercurial path my life has taken. Perhaps the pain was simply the soil that
would nurture the hope and allow my horizons to broaden and my heart to grow. I like to think that learning to set
boundaries has been tantamount to decreasing my social circle..it adds depth
and perspective. I’m right where I’m
supposed to be.
I face the fear of
death daily. Anyone who’s lived with an
aneurysm can testify that it’s terrifying on a whole new level. While it’s deemed “stable” it’s still
there. Kinda like the pain..it passes
but the lessons are still there. To feel
pain is to feel life. To beat the odds
is simply a matter of deciding to get back up.
To see the good in the bad is simply a choice. To live a life worth remembering is nothing
more than a matter of dedication to dream no matter how distant it may be. It’s nice to come through all of this and yet
still appreciate the scars, to accept the existence of that which could end
your dream, and still remain intact, happy, hopeful, and able to walk another
step closer to the future which you thought you didn’t have. I can’t change my past but I can walk further
away from it with each passing day and yet hold onto the lessons it’s taught
me. My story is no different and maybe
less difficult than many others but I’m free once again to dream and to look
out at the horizon at a beautiful life..no matter how long it may be. I feel lucky to have lived this life the way
that I have. The odds are that my luck
will eventually run out…..but not yet!
