Author: Tom (Page 7 of 71)

Tom is a stroke survivor, a seeker, a meditator, a veteran firefighter and rescue tech, a motivational speaker, a poet, and a blogger (new site) & author. He is also the father of three and as their student and teacher, has found applying spiritual practices to all aspects of life provides a vast amount of possibility and abundance. Tom has discovered that true forgiveness is the key to a pure heart, and a pure heart can lead us to wondrous experiences.

You can also connect with tom on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Tomgwriter55/".

“Make sure you grab the right hose” (A humorous firefighter’s tale)

October 17, 2019 / Tom

In the office today, we were talking about some experiences we’ve had, and one of them was about how most people have had toilet paper stuck to their shoe. I remarked that I hadn’t, but I was pretty sure that I had done something no one on else in the office had done.

They wondered what. After some brief moments of thought, I decided it was safe to tell them.

It was one of those early morning fire calls, the kind that wakes you out of a dead sleep with a shot of adrenaline that hides all thought and reasoning. Anyone who has ever answered one of those calls knows what I mean but, for those of you who haven’t, I’ll describe it.

Imagine you are in a sound, dead-to-the-world kind of sleep. Suddenly, out of nowhere, an alarm wakes you. Years of responding to that alarm has created a Pavlov’s dog out of you, and the rush of adrenaline fills your soul and awakens your heart. There have been many times when I got out of bed, got dressed, arrived at the station and donned my gear without ever being able to remember a single one of those moments. There I’d be, ready to go, boarding a fire truck to some emergency somewhere having no idea how I got there.

It sometimes happened at about that time when the sudden wakefulness showed its price. As I’d ask “what’s the call?” I’d realize that my body had certain functions that needed addressing. Sometimes it would be a matter of pee, and others it is a much more serious endeavor. I continued the story.

“There was once when I responded to a working house fire and realized when I got in the house that I had to go to the bathroom. I tried hard to hold it, but it really started to hurt.”

I described how, in the midst of a working house fire, I had used the home’s bathroom to relieve myself. There I was, hose in hand and turnout pants down about my ankles, sitting on the toilet trying my best to hurry. I let myself go just to the point where the pain stopped. It only took me a few seconds, but it seemed like hours.

“And, no, I didn’t have any toilet paper stuck to my shoe.” And, yes, I did flush.

Duty calls, but sometimes so does dooty. Sometimes you have to answer both at the same time.

Once we had a fire in a commercial building and I had to pee. I got caught by a chief while using the urinal.

“Make sure you grab the right hose,” was all he said.

I got to my partner who was dutifully standing just outside the bathroom door. “Thanks, brother.”

“Hey, he asked what I was doing so I told him I was waiting for you. He had to see it to believe it.”

“I’m just happy I was in the men’s room.”

Early in my career it was easy to forget about bodily functions during a fire or rescue assignment. Your body gets in that “fight or flight” place and all bodily needs are forgotten until the excitement wears off. As you gain experience, however, it takes a lot more to get one excited enough that poop in the shoot or rain in the drain are able to be ignored. If the situation calls for it, you need relief. If the situation is life or death, the need for relief vanishes. You soon realize your body knows what is going on, so if you felt the need for relief things probably weren’t that serious. I can say with certainty that if someone’s life was in danger there isn’t a firefighter I know that would feel the need to use the rest room.

It may be one of those things that we in first response rarely talk about, but we’ve all experienced. That “oh shit” moment that is quite literal in scope and plentiful in nature. But don’t worry, we all seem to remember to flush.

Leaving the hospital, barely able to see but completely sure what direction I was heading.

Five Years Ago

October 14, 2019 / Tom

Five years ago last night I felt sick. I was eating dinner and felt a wave of dizziness hit me. I excused myself from dinner and went to lay down.

Five years ago today, I woke up feeling dizzy and not quite myself. I helped some people move some heavy boxes down some steps, and had to steady myself going back up them. I thought I had an ear infection, or a sinus infection, or just some flu that was making me feel tired, dizzy and unstable on my feet.

Five years ago this afternoon I was convinced not to fly back to New Jersey from St. Louis, but to take a “road trip” since I wasn’t feeling well. The discussion seemed odd given the time it would take to drive back to New Jersey, and the time Heather would need to drive back. But she insisted, and I was feeling too sick to disagree. I could only look back now and understand it was a conversation that likely saved my life.

Five years ago tonight I was heading back from St. Louis to New Jersey in a Jeep Wrangler on a highway instead of at 35,000 feet when I felt a strange feeling of numbness cross my face. I then loss all ability to control my arm and leg, and immediately asked to be taken to an emergency room, an emergency room that was minutes, not hours, away.

Why?”

“Because I’m having a stroke.”

Five years ago my life changed forever. In the ensuing weeks I would be told by doctors and physical therapists what I would not be able to do, what I could not do, and what I would need to accept as “the new normal”. I was told not to expect too much, and that recovery would be a “marathon, not a sprint.” I would be told to slow down and to lower my expectations. I would be made to feel like all I could expect out of life would be blindness, a walker or a wheelchair, and a slow recovery to whatever functionality I could find.

My intuition told me something else. My heart demanded more, and my mind decided to heed that those voice instead of those I did not know. I went at my own pace, doing things no one had instructed me to do. Soon, I was doing things they said I couldn’t do. Then I was doing more than they thought possible. Then I was ready for the next phase of my recovery.

Given my condition, I was told I’b be in the hospital for a month. I was discharged after 10 days, and headed to an inpatient rehab facility. I could not see, and needed assistance walking, but I knew something inside of me was stirring. I was ready. I was able. I would make the best use of this recovery possible. I would use this time to learn a new way of living and of looking at life. I would learn that every challenge I faced up until that moment on a highway, every success and every failure, had prepared me . Honestly, I used every bit of my life’s experience to recover, and every bit of my recovery to enhance my life’s experience.

Today, my life is much different than it was 5 years ago. I’ve mostly recovered save some bouts of instability on the rocks I hike on and some worry whenever I feel physically “off”. I still have issues heading down the trail, but it’s not like it was. The biggest change has been a positive one – that fire born inside me 5 years ago today has never left. I know who I am. I understand the code I live by. I don’t relinquish my power often to the fear the shouts at me from every angle. Instead, I hear the voice within me whisper and I heed it’s encouragement.

And I never relinquish my power to another human being. I never readily agree to the limitations they wish to place on me. I let those lines they draw in the proverbial sands be lines they adhere to, but not lines I use as my own. I make my own agreements in my own way, and I never surrender to fear that does not agree with my inner voice. Fear pretends to be a voice within when in reality it is nothing more than someone else’s voice pretending to be my own.

Being strong is easy when you are sitting in your comfort zone, sipping on your favorite drink watching others charge up hills around you. Finding your weakness is easy when your world is falling apart and the certainty of your reality is in question. There is, however, nothing like being strong in the whirlpool of your weakness and of finding your fortitude in the muck that wants to to quit the race. I’m not sure that is what I did, but it sure felt that way.

Five years ago last night I started to lose it all.

Five years ago today everything was lost to the certainty of my mortality.

Five years ago tomorrow I discovered the truth.

My Last Day on Earth (If Only I had the Courage)

October 9, 2019 / Tom

It’s almost become cliche. Actually, it has become cliche. We’ve turned a profound question of introspection into one that bounces off our exterior, often finding it hard to penetrate the wanton shrouds we place on our every day life. Still, though, the question remains a powerful one, even if it seems lost to the swirl of our common personal insanity.

What would I do if this is my last day on Earth?

I ask mys elf this question while sitting in a whirlpool of daily existence, head throbbing with the weight of the day on my shoulders.. This time, though, I want to answer it honestly and without reservation. I truly want to discover my long-hidden truth.

The first thing that I realize is that I would not be wasting time as I do. I would not give a fuck about my job, although I would still care about the people I serve. I would not care about the mundane things I give so much attention to. I waste so much of my life in the mundane, struggling to grasp at golden rings that always seem just beyond my reach. I spend much of my life threading water in a mundane pool of worry. There, I worry about what would happen if my car broke down, or I got sick, or if something happened to one of my beloveds. Perhaps knowing that this would be my last day on Earth would free me from such worries. Perhaps I’ve enshrouded my life with so many veils of worry that I can’t see what life is anymore. Perhaps my throbbing head offers me an answer.

Yet it seems I’ve started answering the question of what I would do by suggesting what I wouldn’t do. That seems to be because I spend so much of my time doing things I would not do if faced with the end. Perhaps there is a sapling rose in the weed-filled garden of my life, a garden that I first must weed just to get to the flower. Maybe there is so much shit in my way that a clearing is necessary. It’s time, perhaps, to burn the fucking thing to ash just to clear out the trash. Maybe that is what my response is telling me. End the patterns that have never served you well, and let those that do bloom in their sacred majesty. Let me now pull out the most easily pulled weeds in my garden.

So, I would not be sitting at this desk wishing I was on a trail somewhere. I would not be looking out this window at the gorgeous blue skies wishing I was under them unimpeded by the glass, wood and nails of the box I am in. I would not be sitting alone wishing those I love were near, sharing in the glory of the moments we share alive and in health. I would not be asking myself questions the betray the misery of American human existence. I would not need to learn, or teach, or ask for the truth. I would just live, and life itself would be my teacher, my instruction and my honest breath.

I would be making love in the mud, dancing in the rain, searching for the rose in the weeds. I would be laughing an honest laugh and walking the hardest trail. I would hold your hand with all the vitality of a man in love with his mortality can muster. I would hold your face and kiss you with the knowledge that I don’t have many of those left, and I would cherish that kiss with all the attention it deserved. I would hug those I love with a heart wide open, and they would return the love because they, too, realize the frailty of our interaction. I would bask in such glory, having found heaven in my midst and hell in knowing I would be leaving it all behind.

I would write my book without the distraction that lives outside my soul. The words themselves would shout with the exuberance of a wild beast in his element, and they would shake your heart to its core. You would feel a pulsing in areas that may have been long-dormant and I would quake with you in an ecstasy of connection. You would tingle, and I would dance, and that majesty would wake up the world to a truth we’ve often left lost in the madness of our distraction. That rose would bloom in being free from the weeds. Free to bask in the sun of its day and the moon of its night.

If only I had the courage.

This morning there was such a sweet meditation. I was walking in a beautiful and lush valley, teaming with life and basking both in the light of the Sun and the shadows created by a ring of high mountains. I loved the way I felt in the valley, allowing the chill of the shadow to give the warmth of the light its meaning. My fingertips draw funny shapes in the dew that clings to the large leaves, and my eyes close in a silent prayer as nature plays around me. I can hear a distant waterfall mixing with the rush of a spring stream and I wonder if there is anything else I could want.

Those mountains. Their peaks begin calling out to me with a siren’s song, That is where I need to be. My heart pleads for me to go, but my feet sit idle. My soul screams at me to move, yet my mind stays still. All of me wants to sit on their summit, all but the part of me that needs to make it happen. That part of me holds firm to what it knows, what it was taught, lost in the fear of what lies just beyond. I am sure the view is beautiful. I am sure the climb is majestic. I am sure that the thought of moving scares the shit out of me.

My god, if I only had the courage.

I am awakened from this vision. Swirling in that brew created with parts of thought, parts of soul, and parts of heart is a stew meant for great consideration. Perhaps there would be no fear if this was my last day on earth. Perhaps the views would worth my final breath. Perhaps the climb would be worth each drop of sweat left in me. Maybe I could rise from this valley I feel stuck in if only I had no repercussions to face. Then I wonder what the repercussions would be if I stayed and failed to climb the mountains that promised at least a view of the promised land.

Now, however, I have no time to think about such things. I have to get to work, to meet my responsibilities. I have to bathe in mundane waters that keep the trail dust from settling on my skin. I have to hide in this box telling the world that “I am just like you” while knowing I am not like them at all. I have to lie just to find the truth, and I have to reconcile my wild nature with rules I had no hand in creating. If only I had the courage I’d have if I knew this was my last day on Earth. If only I could move.

Because I Was a Lion Once (A Poem)

October 3, 2019 / Tom

Because I was a lion once,

I hear the call of the wild,

Smell the sweet fragrance of the aspens

Pulling me toward the mountaintops.

Never lost and never to be forgotten.

Because I was a lion once,

Demons sent to frighten me,

Only cause my soul to growl.

A whispered roar to warn the beasts,

I own them. I am their king.

Because I was a lion once,

I roam where my soul wants to go,

And seek no recompense for my wanderings,

For I will starve if she so demands,

And I will feed when her hand opens to my call.

Because I was a lion once,

This pride, this brood, I shall defend,

Clarity abounds in the process of my starvation,

A frenzy ensures in the hour of its quenching,

I can not silence nature’s call.

Because I was a lion once,

I know my time is near its end,

Yet no tear forms in the thought of this departure,

For I know with each passing day I shall return,

To be a lion yet again.

She’d Rise Again (A Poem)

September 26, 2019 / Tom

I heard what she said,

Before she fell,

Before the world crumbled around her,

She was, for me,

The calm before the storm.

The placid sea churning with uncertainty.

I heard a faint sigh,

A slight gasp peer through the crack in her lips,

And she uttered,

What I heard lifted me from my doldrums,

A single ray of light that poured through the clouds,

And I knew she would return.

Then a single drop splashed hard upon my forehead,

Thunder rolled as she tumbled toward the ground,

I heard her growl in the moment that she fell,

I heard her swear in the second she let go,

Her words still echo in the canyons of my soul,

As I felt her blood trickle down my skin.

There is nothing like the sight,

Of a warrior losing to her demons.

There are no words,

Like those she spoke to me that day.

Yet in the moment of that surrender,

In the moment her walls turned to dust

And her sword faltered her fiercest undertaking,

The world

Knew

She’d rise again.

The Language of Nature

September 25, 2019 / Tom

“Your breath touched my soul and I saw beyond all limits.” ~Rumi

I can almost remember the first time Nature spoke to me. I was young, so I didn’t immediately understand. I couldn’t decipher what She was telling me. I couldn’t make sense of Her call. Nature does not sing Her song in words. Her language is a much simpler to comprehend.

In my youth I couldn’t translate the language of Nature, although She tried to speak to me. When I put my hand in Her running stream, I marveled at her caress and how the gentle force of Her flow would push my hand back but then allow it to finds its place again. I could feel Her coolness refresh my blood warmed by the effort to discover Her, and as I sipped from her chalice She demanded nothing in return. I had no idea what She was saying, but in the refreshment came visions I had never seen and words I had never heard. I was, in my youthful exuberance, a boy in accustomed to the shallow words of human communication. I had not yet discovered the depth of discussion I would have with things not human.

From time to time, She would carry a leaf or a stick past me, and I would study them as they made their way to some place unknown. They would surrender to the flow of Her, and they would arrive at a destination of Her choosing at a time so absolutely appropriate. They would sometimes disappear beneath her surface in the tumult of descent, but they would surface a little later unscathed and ready to continue on their journey. I often wondered what they had learned in the force of Her undertow, if anything at all. The Stream, it seemed, twisted and turned and fell and found stillness without much care for the things She carried. She was just flowing, and those things that flowed with Her would always find their way. The storms may ripple Her surface and the cold may freeze Her edges, but she would always be true to Herself while the things that flowed with her would always arrive right where they needed to be. She would never change for them, for She carried them with the same level of affection whether they could sense it or not.

While I could not yet understand her language, she pulled at me with such a beautiful gravity. Within me was a desire to walk with Her, not as the branch or the leaf, but as a human being inspired to walk paths that sometimes make no sense to the world. She stoked that desire until, one day, I had to walk within her. Unlike the leaf, I walked upstream with a human purpose, and unlike the branch I would struggle not to drown. My lot was not to surrender to the current but to walk against it. My purpose was not to see the reality of Her placid destinations. My purpose was to explore the uphill climbs and the raging rapids that would take me to Her origins. My soul wanted to be a student born to learn from Her and she, in turn, would teach.

That was the first conversation I can remember having with Nature. It came not in a word or a book, but rather in a feeling inspired in our communion. There were no passages to read or prose to recite. There was only the caress of Her breath that would set me inspired for hours. She need never whisper a promise to me for all She needed to offer was a clear view of the Sunrise. She need never swear an oath to my heart, for committed I became just sitting upon a peak gazing at Her majesty. I learned along the way that the truest words are unspoken, and the strongest binds are not those forged floating downstream but, rather, in walking against the current.

In that journey She has brought me wisdom. She has shown me the powerful presence of a bear, or a moose, or an elk when alone on a dusty trail. She has brought my heart to great heights as the Sun rises above a vast ocean. She has touched my soul as I’ve swam with beasts normally unseen living in their watery world. She has lulled me to sleep in her subtle breezes, taught me humility in raging storms, shaken my confidence as the earth quaked around me and given me a sturdy tree on which to lean when the quaking stopped. She has awoken me with the crack of thunder, bathed me in the clearest water ever known, and taught me that often reaching the summit is not the end of the journey and that life often continues exactly where it began.

She has, at times gently and at times roughly, led me to the depth of my own courage and determination. She has shown me where the edges of my boundaries remain, and where my actions are not in line with my desires. On shaky legs I have climbed, determined to reach my objective. In uncertainty I have come back down as my mind shouted at me that I was unable. In Her way, she showed me that the voices within and around me often only tell their own truth, and that my truth is often not the same. She has shown me the beauty of overcoming exhaustion just to hear Her sing within a waterfall. She has led me to heights I once thought impossible just for the inspiring views they provide. She has taught me more than any professor while never speaking a single word in instruction.

Her language courses through me with every breath as I long to be entangled in Her pureness and lost in Her presence. I hear Her song as the morning songbirds inspire me to wake. I hear Her lectures as the cool mountain breeze wipes the sweat from my brow, and the scent of wildflowers fills my senses. I hear Her words of inspiration as my body weakens before I’ve seen the summit, and felt Her embrace as I marvel at that view. I’ve felt Her love in the presence of others who have heard her calling, and who understand the language that we speak in silence.

It has proven true the adage that once you hear the voice of Nature no other language will suffice. Once you’ve touched the face of her gods the thrills of flesh become obsolete. Nature is, in Her essence, that part of us left when we die. She is that call of the wild within us all and that lullaby that puts the demons asleep. Release your worry to the wind, and let the soothing power of Her wonder keep you in awe. She is dangerous, and failure often means a lover’s demise. Yet in Her passion she shows you the best of you, and if your end is the result She led you there to that placid place on Her shores. Such a journey is our destiny, whether we want it or not.

Quandary

September 23, 2019 / Tom

How many more days can I give my life to the wealth of others? How many more days must I struggle in order to give them the bounty of my effort, the blood of my time, the breath of my very existence?

When do I muster my courage to break free of this mold and smash it to the miserable bits it deserves to be? Do I have the talent to own my destiny, to speak my truth and to cast the whims of my heart out into the winds left to blow in my life?

Doubt, it seems, holds me enslaved to the master who who has played the game quite well. Fear, it seems, holds me shackled to the cornerstone of commerce squeezing out a living while casting aside a life. But it is I who have chosen to stay a slave, and refused to tear the bindings from my weary mind.

I just wish to write, to walk a million miles in the glory of nature while sharing that journey in a million truthful words; words that act as pixels on a mental canvas, little bits of truth spun into a tapestry of bewilderment. I wish to kiss the lips of life and tell the story in a way that sends shivers of delight down the spines of those who read it. I want to dance with my saints and demons and to share the tale of a tango lost in a whirlwind of discovery. I want to stare not in the quest that gives a master his spoils, but to see the passion within me rise with the glory of a life well lives and stories well told.

What, I ask the holy who know the answer to such things, was I born to do?

Those who raised me would certainly say I was born to struggle in the rich man’s game, engaging in the same fallacy as they that one day I will join that club. One must work for the man to become the man, or something to that effect. Many of those who I’ve endeared my confidences would certainly complain about the struggle while embracing it as an American birthright, one that often glorifies the act of busy while forgetting who we are busy for. Some who’ve I’ve entrusted my innermost feelings would suggest I just turn the key and free myself, often oblivious to the responsibilities I’ve chosen along the way.

So, the quandary is real, and the mess of truth no more makes sense as does the lie. A soul laying quietly in the meadow can only wonder what he does with the heat of day when the promise of a chilled night presents itself. Does such a man surrender to his lot in life or does he create it? Which, dear Universe, does this soul do?

The Truth, It Seems (A Poem)

September 20, 2019 / Tom

I once heard a voice through the timbers,

It’s breath shook branches and rustled leaves scattered upon the ground.

“What do you do with this moment?”

I sighed,

Knowing what I was supposed to say to answer,

Knowing what was expected of me in response,

Yet knowing it was a lie.

The truth, it seems, was nothing I was told I could do.

I was taught something different,

I was shown a path not my own,

And I agreed to the limits others had placed on themselves,

As though they were my own sacred truth,

My birthright,

The agreements I had made at conception.

Their truth had been turned into my lie.

My truth, it seems, was nothing I was told I could do.

I stared silently into the soul of the forest,

The growl,

I could not be sure if it was out there,

Or radiating from my trembling mind,

A deep breath, and I knew what I must do,

My mouth opened, but no words would be born,

My heart, instead, gave it’s answer.

This truth, it seems, was nothing I was told I could do.

I would live,

Without mercy offered to the demons that would see me die.

A code, written not in the book of others

But out of a desire to find my own bliss,

A life not being lived in the light of another’s torch,

But of the one I had built, that I had lit,

With my own trusting hands.

The truth, it seems, was something I knew I could do.

I turned, and walked to my own destiny,

Cleansed by the dirt of trails I would find,

Forged by the fears I would banish into history,

A deep breath,

Unsteady legs would become strong,

Uncertain thoughts would die on their vine,

My life became my own.

The truth, it seems, was something I discovered I had done.

One More Chance

September 19, 2019 / Tom

He remembered when the realization first set in that he was dying. He sat reclined among others, barely able to keep his focus on the discussion and completely distracted by the changes occurring in his body. The dizziness had set in hours ago, which he was able to dismiss that as nothing more than an illness. Then the nausea came, which he blamed on the unseen virus that was wracking the space behind his eyes. He felt strong, he just couldn’t keep the world from spinning around him. He felt able, he just couldn’t keep his food down.

Fucking cold.

He told himself that he was alive and would get better, as he had countless times before. He went about his life, helping someone with some heavy boxes they were moving. Only now, he needed to hold himself on the stair banisters as to not fall on his face. Only now, after the short show of normalcy, he had to stop to vomit the contents of his stomach. Only now, he could not seem to make any sense of what was going on around him.

Fucking flu.

Then there was the drive, and the conversation. He was glad he didn’t have to operate the car he was in. All he wanted to do was sleep, to hear nothing but the sound of air rushing around him and the faint sound of the radio playing soft music in the background. Sleep would, perhaps, take hours off the illness and give his body the rest it needed to recover. He tried to focus on the low hum of music. He hoped it would bring him some peace. Yet, he felt dizzy even with his eyes closed, and nauseous even though his body was complete empty.

Fucking virus.

Then came the moment. A feeling of numbness shot across his face as his nose felt as if it had turned to ice. His eyes opened cursing the dim light as his hands covered his nose, hoping to warm it again. The problem was that he couldn’t find his nose and his hand wondered aimlessly. He had lost control, and as he reached out for the windshield his arm went wildly in the wrong direction. He lifted his leg but couldn’t put it down where he wanted. He was dying.

Just plain fuck.

He interrupted the conversation around him. Get me to the nearest hospital. Why? Because I”m having a stroke. What? I’m having a stroke, get me to a hospital quick.

Jesus…fuck.

The car pulled up on front of the hospital, and soon someone appeared with a wheel chair and a smile. I don’t know that I can get in that chair. My legs are weak, and I have no balance. We’ll help you. Can you try? Sure. He was always game for a challenge, and it appeared one had been issued. His legs, however, were not up for it. His arms could not support his weight. Hours before he was moving heavy boxes. Now, he couldn’t move himself.

Fuck, I can’t do it.

Words he hated came willingly from his mouth. I can’t do it. We got you, just let us support you. Ok, turn slowly. Now sit slowly. Don’t worry, we got you.

He had been the one who always did the getting. He was the one who did the saving. He was the one who would carry someone to safety. This moment, the moment he realized he was dying, changed all that.

What the fuck.

They got him to a gurney in the emergency room. Apparently, they thought he was having a heart attack. I feel no pain. In fact, I feel numb. I’m having a stroke, not a heart attack. They would leave him for what seemed like hours. Time slows to a crawl when you are the one needing help. Minutes change to hours. Eternity seems a reality as you exist in this purgatory. Slowly, then not so slowly, his eyes began to fade. He could not control them, and it was far less painful to shut them off then it was to wish them to life. What if I never see my kids again? What if they never knew who I am? What if I can never tell them how much I love them?

So many things to do. Visions of mountains crossed his mind. He wanted to see the view from up there. He could see the wild, clear streams flowing from the glacial ice. He could smell the wildflowers dotting the trails he would take to the view of his dreams. He wanted to see the elk wonder in their natural home, see the moose plod gracefully without care of his existence. He wanted to hold her hand. Not just anyone’s hand, but her hand. He wanted to love again. Not just some surface love that sent ripples on his flesh. He wanted depth. He wanted his surface calmed as she stirred his depths to ecstasy. He heard his children laughing in the darkness, and he felt them crawl onto his lap once again. He could feel their breath on his face, and their hands grasp his finger as if to say “don’t go Daddy.”

He was, however, dying. He knew it just as he knew the sounds of footsteps meant they were coming again. This time, a new voice asked the wrong questions.

Seriously. What the fuck…

No, I don’t feel pain, so on a scale of 1 to 10, I’d say a zero. Now, if you want numbness, that’s a 12. I can’t see. I’m dizzy. I have no balance. I’m having a fucking stroke, not a heart attack. Let me rephrase that. I”m having a CVA, not an MCI. Got it?

He was hoping that speaking their language would help them understand. His speech had begun to crack, but it was still clear. The voice vanished in the swoosh of a hospital curtain. He was alone again.

Soon, familiar and friendly voices entered the room. He could barely see them, but he knew them just by presence.

How are you feeling? Not so good. They are taking forever. Do you want me to do something? Let’s see what they say. Oh, I will.

A threatened lawsuit had stirred something.

After all of that, the voices had stopped asking him about pain. They has stopped checking his heart for malfunction, and had instead switched to his brain. Calls to other specialists led to a diagnosis…

You are having a stroke.

No fucking shit, really?

He had entered the day ready to take on the worlds as he saw it. He would end the day not being able to see it at all. He began the day not caring how it ended. He ended the day hoping to see another. He had started the day not knowing its promise. He had ended it seeing nothing but promise and, with that, made a few of his own.

He would live. He would hike mountains. He would hug his children more. He would tell them he loved them as often as they would allow. He would live for the moment when love was in his heart and the strength of the truth he was about to discover. He would not sacrifice any of his calling to the whims of others. Yes, he would live, and he would do so on his own terms.

It was only two years before he had wanted to die. Now, he only wanted to live. If only he had one more chance.

To be continued…

Faith

September 14, 2019 / Tom