Connecting

Sometimes, when you least expect it, something happens in your life that takes you aback. It infuses you with a totally new and different perspective.

I had one of those moments at breakfast yesterday morning.

Truth be told, I was feeling a little down on myself for hurting so much even though I have really pushed myself since Karen has been on vacation. My stump started leaking from what I suspect was a subdural pocket of fluid from where my stitch holes were.

I have learned to gut it up, but I sort of tip my hand a bit when I start limping.

So, I am sitting there enjoying my omelet and hash browns, and thinking about staying off my leg for the next couple of days.

Fuck that.

I only have a finite number of days left before I run out. I would rather spend my time undergoing a little pain while doing something or going somewhere than to sit around healing up.

Healing up for what?

Just as I was finishing my coffee and contemplating a Lazy Boy afternoon, an elderly woman approached my table.

“Excuse me, may I say something personal to you?”

I smiled and said it would be fine.

“I think your leg is beautiful.”

I was a little confused.

She went on to tell me about her father Stanford and how they lived on a small farm and how he had lost both his legs in an accident with a tractor. They were too poor to afford any type of prosthetic, and what I initially regarded as gross and alien-like was actually genuinely appreciated by this stranger.

I could see in her eyes the unspoken wishes that her father might have lived a better life had he access to a leg like mine way back when.

I looked into her eyes and we connected.

I gave her a genuine smile of appreciation and there we were, two strangers in the breakfast dining room hugging each other like family.

I told her it was my pleasure to make her acquaintance, and I grabbed my small “to go” box with Bruiser and Murphy’s breakfast and headed home.

But I only stayed long enough to fill my doggies’ bowls with yummy breakfast.

I grabbed my golf clubs and headed for the driving range.

I got a bucket of seventy-five balls, grabbed a few clubs, and started flailing away.

I kept duffing the balls every direction but the one I was aiming at, and I fell while I was trying to overswing a three wood.

But I got back up, and as I got down to only a handful of balls left, I set a ball on a tee, and grabbed my driver.

Now, I am the very first to admit my limitations on the golf course, and I am OK with my spot on the totem pole of golf.

I was having trouble rotating my hips at impact to try and add a little extra distance, so I brought my club back, and when I hit through, I spun on my prosthetic and caught the ball flush.

I crushed it.

She will never know it, but I looked skyward and said that one’s for you Stanford.

Stay well.