I wander among the murals here, |
absorbing their messages, admiring their art, |
feeling their energy. |
It's kind of miraculous. |
We wave back -- well, Philly style :) |
I wish him happy and safe travels! |
My road came to an unexpected halt on November 9, 2010.
That morning, I was bicycling to work when a garbage truck turned across a city bike lane. I was in that bike lane.
A team of trauma surgeons saved my life, but they had to amputate my left leg. My body and life were forever changed.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.
As I learned to walk again, I measured my recovery in steps and then miles. Over time that journey grew into something more -- a way of being in the world, wherever I go.
I am a person of ability and disability. I travel in the space between. These are my postcards.
I wander among the murals here, |
absorbing their messages, admiring their art, |
feeling their energy. |
It's kind of miraculous. |
We wave back -- well, Philly style :) |
I wish him happy and safe travels! |
...from the Italian Market!
Yes, I know that's a language mashup, but that's where I am.
Qui. Maintenant. Here. Now.
Mile 12,615 = Kilomètre 20,302 |
I'm gearing up for travel.
In just two weeks, I leave for Paris -- yes, Paris! -- to join travel writer Rolf Potts, and a whole new group of classmates for the advanced version of the travel memoir class I took there last summer. I can't wait!
So I'd better brush up on my writing -- and walking.
Here at home, my little red car, "Happy," has just passed her 10,000th mile.
To celebrate, and sneak in some walking/writing, we drive down to our old favorite, Gleaner's, for a coffee and stroll through the Italian Market.
And this one?? |
Pretty much Philly in a nutshell. |
Smoother. Brighter. |
And I'm happy to be here. |
Hello from Mile 12,480.
Summer greetings from Mile 12,445...
The Florida Panthers won the Stanley Cup.
(Stick with me...)
With the Flyers well into their summer break, I didn't even follow the Stanley Cup Playoffs this year. And anyway, it's mid-June.
In my mind, too hot for hockey.
In fact, if I hadn't heard that one-liner on the morning news, I wouldn't have even known who was playing.
But it's true.
The Florida Panthers beat the Edmonton Oilers last night.
And they didn't just win. They did it in historic fashion.
The announcement comes on NPR as I'm putting in my contact lenses at the bathroom counter.
Wait, I think. How could this happen?
There's no ice in Florida!
It's funny how things stick with us.
My dad imparted this simple truth to me when, around age 7, I asked him why Florida didn't have a hockey team.
It was the 1970's, and I was decked out in Flyers gear.
At the Flyers game that day, we stopped at the souvenir stand, and Dad bought me a sheet of shiny vinyl stickers with the emblems of every team in the NHL. That's when I noticed Florida was missing.
I knew about Florida. My grandparents lived there.
It was hot down there. Of course they couldn't play hockey.
(Even at home, we only went ice skating in the winter!)
There was no ice in Florida! |
So when I hear the news about the Panthers, it stops me in my tracks.
I mean, I knew they were a team now. But in that one moment, I'm gobsmacked by the complexity of the world.
If Florida beats Edmonton in hockey, does that mean anything is possible?
At Mile 12,445 I am walking again. Pretty well, actually.
To that end, I'm glad anything is possible. I'm thankful for the life-saving advances that have carried me this far and the modern technology that encompasses each of my steps.
(When there was no ice in Florida, bionic legs weren't around either!)
But also... this complex world is overwhelming.
I could jump to catastrophe here. I could talk about disappearing glaciers and climate change that's happening because of... well... everything... including ice rinks in Florida.
But I won't go there.
I'll just say that putting on my prosthesis, day after day, in a world where anything is possible -- for better or worse -- is equal parts exhilarating and exhausting.
Sometimes, I yearn for those simpler days when I followed Dad's footsteps up a thousand concrete stairs and settled into his lap at the very top row of The Spectrum.
It was the middle of winter (of course), and we were cheering on our favorite team.
As an adult, I'm sure he carried the weight of a complicated world on his shoulders.
But if he did, he never let on.
Instead, he kept it pint-sized. My-sized.
And handed it to me in manageable pieces -- one simple truth at a time.
There's no ice in Florida.
Apologies to Panthers fans. :) |
Hello from Mile Marker 12,290...
Walking hasn't been so great.
Don't get me wrong. I'm SO glad to be back on my feet again -- going anywhere at all. Getting used to being in my prosthetic socket, with all its pressure points and pain, is just part of the process.
Still, it's been wearing me down.
On Saturday night, I call my friend Beth.
We've just received the tragic news that our friend Gary has passed away.
It is completely unexpected. He was our age. A physical therapist AND a firefighter. Smart. Caring. Brave. The kind of person our world needs more of.
We'd been friends a long time -- all the way back to our skating days. |
Beth and I feel the loss together. Reminisce about our many years in the skate club and how much things have changed since then.
I tell her I feel caught between wanting to do everything (because "life is short") and not wanting to do anything (because "life is hard").
How do we navigate a world like that?
Then Beth tells me about a man she knows from her hiking club.
He's in his 70's and always upbeat, despite aches and pains and rough terrain.
She asked him once how he stays so positive.
"Even on the worst days," he told her, "I try to find one thing that makes each day great."
He gave her some examples. (They were really small things!)
Beth and I laugh it off. It's probably not that simple.
But we start listing "great" things anyway -- things we usually take for granted...
We both know the truth: These are really big things -- and they prove how great we have it.
The next morning Beth texts me:
It's a great day because the sun is shining.
I look out the window. She's right.
And when I open the window, the air outside smells like spring.
That's when I notice my grandmother's begonia has a new brand-new bloom.
I snap a pic. Text it to Beth. |
That's THREE great things already -- and it's still early!
Without planning to, we start texting each other here and there, tossing small "great things" back and forth like a badminton game.
Once you start noticing great things, they're everywhere! |
"We've got to get you walking again," Tim says.
And just like that, hope walks in.
Oh, how I've missed it! |
After 2 months on crutches, I tried to get my prosthesis on.
Flashback to Mile 2,015. They're always in style! |
Lucky for us, they were buy one, get one free! |
Greetings from Mile 12,142 --
My kitchen is a mess, and I'm the happiest I've been in months.
We're going to visit my sister Sam and her family, a trip we've made dozens of times over the years, usually with Dad in the driver's seat.
In Danbury, we pass his favorite stop, the Blue Colony Diner. We start to text him a photo, and then realize we can't. When we reach Springfield, we want to tell him we've arrived. The car feels empty without him.
This trip is different. Everything is different.
Maybe for that reason, we divert from our usual path.
Instead of connecting to I-89 at White River Junction, we drive 20 more miles up I-91 to a place I've never been but have always aspired to go...
King Arthur Baking Company -- the headquarters! |
To our surprise (and my delight) it's fully accessible.
I feel absolutely welcome!! |
KEEP RISING.
It's a fun diversion -- and exactly the message we "knead." :)
We treat ourselves to true Vermont fare: fig and brie on a homemade baguette, a fall salad with maple dressing, steaming cups of cider with biodegradable lids.
Mom does all the carting and carrying! |
I'm on my feet (well, foot) for quite a while. We both are. But it's not exhausting.
It's renewing.
Two hours later, we meet up with our favorite Vermonters.
They don't even notice the delay! |
Back at home, I start counting miles again, picking up where I left off almost 2 months ago.
At Mile 12,142, I decide it's time to get back to baking.
The kitchen fills with the warmth of fall. |
And that mess on the kitchen counter?
It rises into something new, and nourishing, and beautiful.
A pumpkin-cranberry bread to share, gratefully, with friends. |
I've lost track of the miles.
I haven't worn my prosthetic leg in a month.
But today I roll the liner on.
Hey, it's a start. One step closer to moving again.
I open the first door to the lobby. I've mastered a maneuver I call the "one-handed hop-thru." A crutch dangles from my forearm.
Then -- before I can change my mind -- I push through the second door too, and hop out onto the sidewalk. Quick. Like pulling off a band-aid.
Here I go!
Crutch, step. Crutch, step.
One city block down Arch Street. On my own.
With a ridiculous amount of courage, I make it to Starbucks.
Richard treats me to my first coffee in a long time. |
This is it, I think. I'm moving again!
-----
Mile 12,141 was my last noticeable mileage.
It happened toward the end of September. Back then -- maybe you remember -- I was limping around on a stress-fractured right foot.
I relied on my car to get around. I wore a boot on my right leg and a prosthetic on my left. My longest walk was in and out of the hospital, where my dad was a patient.
I ignored my own discomfort, minor in comparison.
----
On October 9, my dad passed away.
And I haven't counted miles since.
My dad was my very first walking partner -- both before and after my accident.
This blog is filled with our walks...
and behind the scenes at Flyers games. |
to find prosthetics in the least likely places! |
He drove me to many (many!) appointments. |
All along, he let me pave my own path -- and then he ran defense, removing every obstacle in my way.
No matter what challenges our family faced, my dad knew what steps to take. |
And always -- even through his own long illness -- he held onto HOPE.
So did we.
----
The day he died, I lost my balance.
I was at my parents' house with the whole family. At sunset, I went out to move my car into the driveway.
It was the new car we'd picked out together from his hospital room. |
We stayed up all night by his bedside. I took off my prosthesis at midnight.
We lost him two hours later.
As the sun rose, I went downstairs on crutches to email my job and let them know I wouldn't be in. I sat down at the laptop and typed:
My dad passed away early this morning.
The words came out on autopilot, like when you walk without realizing how lucky you are.
I hit send.
Then, as I stood up and reached for my crutches, I lost my balance.
And fell.
I landed directly on my residual limb -- my little leg -- hitting it so hard the ceiling turned to stars.
November 9 was my "Alive Day."
It marked 13 years since the accident -- and one month without my dad.
In the days ahead, I'll think about our walks together, keep the memories close, and wish he were here.
I'll make time for what's important. And give myself space to breathe.
But I will hold onto HOPE. Always.
Just like he did.
Love you, Dad. Miss you, Dad. |