Lessons From the Tailgate Volume 3

The tailgate and its impact on my life continue to be my teacher. I share these thoughts not because I am looking for sympathy or pity, but to provide an opportunity for reflection when you are in contact with people who are ill or injured.

Lesson One: I look the way I look. Pain has a way of leaking out of every pore of my body. My eyes are dull and all the color is drained from my face. My movements are jerky and contort my face because they cause more pain. My wardrobe selections have deteriorated significantly. Getting dressed takes most of the energy I have. Today I am sporting an oversized T-shirt from a University of Rhode Island Women’s Basketball tournament. It is complimented by a pair of shabby workout shorts. They are testimony to the time when working out was actually an option. My haute couture is topped off with my favorite flip flops which bare my unpedicured toes. I haven’t had a haircut in four months. There isn’t enough product in the world to make my hair look decent. It is way too much work to put on makeup. I just accept the fact that I look like a cross between Phyllis Diller and the Ghost of Christmas past. I just have to deal with it. So do the people who come to visit.

Lesson Number Two: Recovery is not a straight line from the wheelchair to the marathon race. As someone who is almost pathologically impatient, this is a tough one. I am learning that one step forward and two steps back is the rhythm of recovery. I am still learning what is too much to do by being on the other side of doing too much and paying the price. It is one part impatience and one part stubbornness. There is a lot of waiting around in recovering from this injury. There is so much that needs to be done around the house and around the boat. The collision of the two threatens to make me crazy. I am painfully and slowly learning the art of patience.

Lesson Number Three: It is what it is. Yes, that is a hackneyed overused statement. It happens, however, to be true. There is nothing I can do to change the situation I am in. So, accepting what is remains the task at hand. Acceptance is not an event, it is a process. Like recovery, it is one step forward and two steps back at times.

Lesson Number Four:  Crutches are a pain in the ass. Across my lifespan, I have spent years on crutches. I still have the original wood crutches I received in junior high school after my first knee surgery. The crutches I now have are accented by a shelf to hold my forearm and take the pressure off my broken wrist. This makes the crutches quite unwieldy. They regularly crash to the ground if I try and stand them up. They are the perfect obstacle for someone to trip over when navigating around the house. Right now, however, they are my partner in recovery. I can get up out of the wheelchair and walk around a little. Once again, the goal of recovery tempers the inconveniences of the process.

Lesson Five: I welcome people’s concern, prayers and care. I believe I have remained sane for the last year because of the prayers that are offered on my behalf. Many churches and many people have held me in the gentle embrace of prayer. I feel their love and compassion as I face the challenges of each day. The most helpful prayers are those that ask that I be aware of God’s presence; prayers that I will feel the love and support of people around me; and prayers that I may rely on the Divine for patience and perseverance as this recovery ambles on at glacial pace. Prayer is the real deal, in case you were wondering.  

Lesson Six: These months hold their own gifts and graces. Inasmuch as the tailgate continues to be my teacher, these months of recovery provide the blank pages where I get to write what I am learning. I continue to be amazed at the generosity and compassion of people in our lives. We are blessed with a network that weaves a web of love and support around us in ways I never could have imagined. They are a genuine community, filled with authentic people who are just being who they are and doing what they do. They are embodiments of grace.

I have always believed in the power of community. My first sermon forty-five years ago was entitled Covenant, Community and Commitment. My passion for and commitment to community has grown stronger over these past decades. Churches have taught me what it means to be community. In these months of recovery my friends have taught me once again the value of community. I think it’s the way we are supposed to live in the world.