Losing Out on Four Years of Front Yard Ball

    Losing and gaining many opportunities during this experience of mine has been ambiguous at times.  I have lost a great amount of my memories over this period of recovery, yet have gained an equally great appreciation of my life because of it.

     Having my physical ability taken away from me has been a vast frustration.  Today's blog is about my son and our lost time together.

     My little man was at the end of his eighth year of life when his sisters and I were hit by a drunk driver.  Still an innocent boy who enjoyed his Mother's company and was invariably thrilled at practicing baseball skills in the front yard with me.

     Late evenings were spent with me throwing the ball any way I could possibly think of for him to catch.  Even more gratifying than that, is if I made him dive or roll in some exaggerated effort and he came up with the ball in his glove and a huge smile on his face.  "Do that again Mom, that was awesome!"

     Then came hitting practice with baseballs hit over the fence into the cow pasture.  At that time I could roll under the barbed wire with him to retrieve those symbols of an American past time.  Today I have no problem falling down, but it takes a considerable amount of time and a crane to return to a standing position.  
 
     For one season, he was obsessed with Albert Pujols batting stance.   Drove me nuts!   That extra wide squat was ridiculous, but I pitched relentlessly until that phase passed. 

     During my second summer of recovery, I stood on my front lawn in a desperate attempt to gain some of that cherished time with my ball player.  Wearing shin guards and a leather glove, I stood for four-six minutes at a time, tossing the ball back and forth with my beaming offspring.  Not being able to move in any direction made him fantastic at throwing the ball at my chest every single time.  But it just wasn't feasible to continue.  Too much pain, continuously stopping so I could take a break, I think I was more frustrated than he was.

     I followed him from game to game with a blue walker that had a Yamaha sticker on the front.  Equipped with wheels and a seat, either him or his sister would end up rolling me to our next location. 

     The pain and swelling of my legs was relentless those first two years.  I napped and iced my ankles between games, but never missed an opportunity to watch my son's passion for running those bases.

     Never had I been so indebted for still being alive to enjoy the simplicity of a hot day in the stands, cheering til my throat was hoarse and excitedly going over in detail every play my now nine year old boy relived.  

     Now that I am speaking publicly about many of those struggles, every now and then I get caught with a question that causes my throat to become swollen with emotion.  

     One such time happened this Spring.  Seven presentations in a row, in a classroom setting had me sensitive to deep inquiries.  A high school senior asked me about my son and I worked that into the end of my speaking production.

     I had not spoken of this before which made it difficult to keep my composure because of how close it is to my heart.  The time I lost with him saddens me.  I feel we were both cheated of those precious moments and I am too often trying to encourage my now thirteen year old man into any activity that includes him and I.  
                        


     Unable to change the past is obvious, I only have the ability to ensure that the present and future are full of as many adventures as my teenage son will allow me.  Cherishing each one and committing it to long term memory, I can look back and feel confident that I am spending my time the way I should be. 

     

  "Yesterday's the past, tomorrow's the future, but today is a gift.  That's why it's called the present." -Bil Keane

Learning Public Speaking and Overcoming my Fear

     Public Speaking.  My worst fear.  EVER!

     So three years into my recovery my husband and I are discussing my urge to speak publicly about my recovery.   I really wouldn't say it was my urge, but that I was being tugged by an unseen force. ( that's a whole story in itself) 

     Those that know me well realize that public speaking is an action that I have avoided at all cost.  I could not even give a speech at my best friends wedding due to my extreme shyness!  

     Being the center of attention, having all eyes on me, everyone listening to what I want to say?  Fooor.....getttt it!

     This urge to speak up was so strong that it would not be ignored any longer.  Fine.  I need help.  My husband gives presentations like clock work at his work establishment.  Following his guidance, I slowly began thinking of what I wanted to speak about and how I would share it. 

    I received an email from him one afternoon, forwarding information about an online class that he had received from a co-worker with whom he had shared my dilemma.  The six week class was offered by the University of Washington State and stated all students would record four presentations varying from ninety seconds up to ten minutes.  

     This is perfect for me.  I don't have to get up in front of a class, it is just myself and a video recorder.  I can do this.  I need to do this.

     At that point, I could not imagine speaking about anything for ten minutes!  I laugh at that now because ten minutes is over and I'm like, "Wait, I'm not done!"

     Our very first assignment was just a short ninety second speech stating our reason for entering this class.  It was ridiculous how nervous I still became in my living room and a camera pointed towards me!   All I could think about was how many people would be viewing this.   We posted to You Tube and I knew only class members could view it, but still.  I. was. ridiculous.

     My tongue was thick, my sentences ran together.  I definitely hadn't mastered the "dramatic pause"  or any pause for that matter.  I re-recorded it at least seven times if my recollection is correct.  This was going to be a huge challenge for me.  

     So this is how I started my public speaking endeavor and if this shy, introverted woman can do it, there is hope for everyone who faces this same fear. 

                               

He Helped me Answer my Own Question

     I wrote about this day many months ago waiting for one of my children to be released from practice.  I stored it in a notebook I carried with me to write down my random thoughts.  Several months ago, I tore it out of my notebook and discarded it, knowing I would not share this experience for fear of what others would think.  Fear of others rejecting the brilliant hour that turned my torture into something else.  Something that changed my perspective and eased the hurt from that deep bruise that was imprinted into my heart since December 29th. 

     Three months I had been lying in a hospital bed in my living room with the same question running into and invading every thought I had.   It wasn't even a conscious question at this point, I couldn't control its interference in my life.  I visioned it as someone terribly annoying poking me in the shoulder every half second, not stopping when asked.  " Am I going to be okay?" it vibrated fiercely . 

      Each day for three months I spent my days with this question alternating with my body begging me to stop the pain.  "AM I going to be okay?" *PAIN!* "Am I GOING to be okay?" *PAIN!* "AM I GOING TO BE OKAY?!" ***PAAAAINN!***  No rest, no reprieve. It was maddening!

     A weekday afternoon as I lie in that bed, I grew weary of watching tv.  I cannot focus enough to read, it is painful to write, I tire of my own thoughts.  Closing my eyes, I drift to some meditative state.  Still hearing voices from the television, still knowing my surroundings, that blasted question even intrudes my thoughts here.  For Gods sake, just leave me alone for a bit. 

     Sensations.  Odd sensations come over me.  I am smiling.  With my eyes still closed, a big easy smile spreads across my face.  I don't understand it but I love it, I want more.  A feeling slowly washes over by body. I had been cloaked with a calmness and it swaddled me as a mother swaddles her infant.  

     Peace.  It was splendid peace, warming my body, mind and spirit.  With a trust so unbelievably complete, I knew the answer to my unending inquiry.  Yes.  Even if I do not walk well or ever again,  I will be just fine.  If that means living life in a wheelchair, I will be just fine.  Our girls and I had survived and that is all that I cared about.  Vivid, clear thoughts were mine.  Heaviness lifted its weight from my heart and it began beating again in earnest.

     My world inside of our home stopped as if Mother Nature had stopped time, except for myself.  I was in a whirl wind, everything around me was blurring as my mind whipped with comprehension, with awe, with disbelief.  He wasn't here with me, I did not hear him say the words, but he let me feel my answer.  He was allowed to let me know I was going to be okay.  He was allowed to let me feel peace.  It was him, the man who hit me. 

     I sat up in bed, overcome with emotion and exploded into tears, heart wrenching tears as I held my head in my hands.  I sobbed submissively, "I'm so sorry." "I'm so sorry you died."  " I'm sorry you died and I did not, I don't know why, I'm sorry."   I could not picture his face because I did not know what he looked like.  I did not know his life or personality, but I felt his heart this day.  It felt like this was a way that God let him help the person he caused so much pain for.  He was sorry.   

     He was finally at peace.  I don't know what that meant, but I knew it as well as I knew my own name. 

     It was the first time I had addressed him.  Acknowledged that he had changed my life.  Now he had changed it twice in a matter of three short months.  I know the reality. I know the explanations and excuses of everything else that this can be.  I was dreaming, it was effects of the pain medications I was ingesting, it was my own mind wanting something so badly that I imagined it.  

     But what does it really matter?  I had found what I had been searching for.  My spirit was at ease.  That question no longer haunted me.  I don't care what it was, I loved what it did for me.  I choose to believe because it grants me peace, courage and composure.  I choose to believe.

     I do not wish this pain or these struggles to be in my life.  I wish I could learn these lessons in a less tragic way, but this is my path now.  My journey.  God does not leave you on Earth without a reason.  I have asked him a few thousand times what am I supposed to do for him, what is my reason for being saved because when I look at my car, at the scene, it does not look as if anyone should have survived that.  

     I have heard his silent wishes and this past week, in a room full of three hundred plus people, I finally accepted.  I smirked as I said, "Well you ornery son of a gun." HE says, " Do the thing that you have been most afraid of your entire life." 

 Speak. Up.