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.
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.
2 thoughts on “Connecting”
Love the story brother. You’re a trooper and proud to know you. You keep on keeping on.
Hope life is treating you well my friend.