There is a moral to this story. You may just have to wait to get to the end to see it. I believe, however, that many of you will feel it even before that end arrives.
When I was sick, unable to see, stand, walk or do even some of the simplest things I had become accustomed to I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes the ease of things is relative. Sometimes the purpose of a moment is not to run from difficulty, but to seek to make those difficult things easy. Sometimes we can find great joy in that undertaking.
I want to share something that will, perhaps, add some perspective to this moment. I am asked to write it because someone needs to read it. Perhaps that someone is you. Perhaps he is me.
Some of you know I almost died twice in 2014. I was blinded, could not walk, had no strength in my limbs, and lost a bit of motor control as well. I knew my life would never be the same, but I knew it wasn’t over. In most aspects, I believed that it had actually just begun (again).
It’s hard from someone who hasn’t been in this spot to understand it. There are many choices one can make as they lay on a hospital bed unable to even swallow. For me, the choice would be very clear, very quickly.
I would see my children in my mind. I had made a video on my cell for them as I laid in the emergency room slowly losing my faculties. I had no idea if I would survive, let alone ever speak again. I wanted them to know some things that I felt had not been said enough. I never wanted them to wonder about those things, so the video clearly (in the best way I could) spelled out my feelings, my thoughts, and how wonderful of beings I knew they were.
I had vowed in that moment that, if I survived, I would never let those things go unsaid again. I know it is difficult for those who have never faced the likely possibility of never speaking again to understand just how valuable the words “I love you” are, but I sure don’t. Life is just too fragile to let those things slip by, and it’s a fucking shame if we let them.
As my eyes began to fail me, I looked around. I could not imagine the last images I would see would be the inside of that emergency room. I tried to think back to those things I loved to see….and wished I could see them again. I vowed in that moment that if I regained my vision that I would soak in every sight I could, and never take any of them for granted.
As my limbs became numb, I tried to recall what it felt like to have the warm Sun on my skin, or to feel the kisses of my children on my face. I tried to remember what it was like to put my feet in the chilly ocean, or to crunch my toes up in the sand. I tried to remember what it was like to run, to stand, to chase my daughter on the soccer field.
I vowed in that moment to never take a kiss for granted. I never wanted to take any step I took with a grain of salt. If I could ever walk again, or throw a ball, or catch a Frisbee I would do those things with great abandon.
When I regained my sight, I took great joy in the most mundane things. The Sun peeking above the horizon. A sports game. The sight of someone I love smiling. The way the new snow looks on the ground. My daughter scoring a goal, my son showing me his new comedy routine. I wanted to soak it all in while it lasted if I was given the chance, and never take any of it for granted.
As I was learning to walk again, I would take great joy in the little things. Those little things added up to eventually walking without assistance, then to climbing stairs without much help, to running (and falling ) on the beach (I would run on the beach so that when I fell, it wouldn’t hurt so much), to running mountain trails. I still count the little things as very important in a way most of those who haven’t lost those little things can understand.
Believe me. When you aren’t sure you’ll ever walk again that moment you crawl up and down stairs is wonderful. Then, the moment you can walk up the stairs becomes a reason to smile. When that is followed by being able to walk down the stairs, well you celebrate. That celebration continues every time you walk up and down something…stairs, trails, inclines.
About that running on the beach for when I fell. I did fall, many times. Landing on the sand is not painless, and I bore the scrapes and bloody elbows and knees to prove it. One time I went running at a rock quarry just to see if I could do it. Needless to say, it was about a 2 mile loop, and I left with a little less skin than when I arrived, but I smiled because I was actually running at a rock quarry. Ah, those little things.
Eventually the feeling and strength in my limbs returned although I do feel some things differently now. It took work, lots of it. I would lift (for me) the most ridiculously light weights, but as my grip strength improved and my range of motion became more consistent, that weight got heavier. Now, I don’t take any physical activity for granted. Each is a celebration all by itself.
I never take a caress for granted. I absorb every moment my fingertips touch someone I love. A kiss deserves my utmost attention. Oh, and yes…every second counts in love. Ever. Single. One. Take one for granted and, well, you may not get another. Don’t be like younger Tom trying to get out words on a video that should have never been let to chance. Don’t be like younger Tom, take the chance on life when it is offered you.
That is, after all, the point. Life is one big experience, one big present moment, made up of a bunch of little ones. In each of those little ones we get to choose our priorities, our values, our perspective, and the amount of effort we will put into them. We get to choose which version of us shows up, and which one of us departs even if we don’t always get to choose how we leave. That isn’t to say that we need to live in fear of the end. I believe we simply need to be aware of its eventuality, and trust ourselves enough to live the life we want to live until that eventuality arrives.
In other words, I choose to live this life. Period.
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