The stories you hear, read, or watch that keep you up at night are the stories with the lifelike characters. How many times have you laid there wondering what a particular character is doing or would do in a particular situation. It's maddening to lay there caught up in empathizing with a fictional character or trying to understand their actions the intertwined stories of my real life. The characters are not all memorable. No, many of the characters of life are very forgettable. This is about the ones who stick with you forever, but more importantly the ones who pop to the front of your consciousness when their role needs to be re-visited as you continue on your journey.
Two such characters were introduced to me almost 20 years ago when I embarked on my journey of learning to live with neurological deficits. I had surgery for a spinal chord resection in a now defunct hospital in New York City. Once out of surgery, it became obvious I would be working toward a new normal. Re-learning daily activities and functions which had been taken for granted until this point of my life became a full-time job. To help with this new training, the department was well staffed with nurses, aides, residents, physical therapists, and many others anxious to help me get back on my feet, both figuratively and literally..
The first unexpected visitor dispatched by the hospital was a priest. Sure, my hospital admissions record indicated I was Catholic and sending the clergy to address your spiritual needs is standard practice. But taking one look at this priest was where the "standard" ended. He had a collar, sure. black-ish shirt, yep. Fairly conservative presentation, uh-uh. At the end of his left hand was the harness guiding a beautiful black lab sporting a support dog vest. It became obvious the priest was dealing with a vision impairment as he moved into room. There were pleasant greetings and introductions, but I was busy trying to process my new visitors. I did not fully grasp the content of the discussion until the priest was seated and by that time I realized I didn't know his name and I was too embarrassed now to ask. "Father" would have to do. The discussion would center around anything and everything calming; he obviously had the time to talk, as did I. Topics were the weather, spirituality, the spirit of NYC, the routine of the hospital, and dealing with my current predicament. Before he rose to leave, he pulled a rosary for his cross-body bag. He explained that he makes the rosaries to leave with those who are are open to the prayer aid and have the need to use it. He prayed with me briefly and then took off for the day. I laid there with my rosary marveling at what had transpired. A blind man walked into my room in a strange setting, talked as if we had always known each other, and left me with comfort and a reminder of all that is possible in life. The rosary remains close each day, as the reminder of anything can be done if you are open to the possibilities.
The second visitor was merely Mike. Mike had, without any competition throughout my entire lifetime, the most mesmerizing blue eyes I had ever seen. They were framed by dark dashes, olive skin tone, and dark hair. Ahhh, come in Mike! Mike explained that he was the resident relaxation expert. Over Mike's 3 visits in the week and a half, he taught breathing exercises, relaxation techniques, mindfulness and clearing your brain. Mike was so good at his job, I fell asleep at least one time while relaxing. Mike had the perfect demeanor for relaxation classes with his soft, low voices and calm soothing manner. I can still picture Mike some 20 years later and just the mere memory makes me relax.
Now, I admit, I was on a decent dose of oxy-something at the time of my NYC hospital stay and these visits. The impact of these visitors has stayed with me long beyond the affects of the pain killers. Fr. and Mike were the perfect personalities to visit with people who had just come through life-altering experiences and faced some uncertainty in the path forward. Their contributions to my life enabled me to physically recover more quickly and to more easily deal with whatever comes next in life. Both characters in this long, drawn out play were cast to perform short-lived yet so important of a role.I had entered the hospital expecting the neurosurgeons to chart my course for the rest of my life. Little did I realize that it was the blind priest, his support dog, and Mike's mesmerizing blue eyes also benefitting me throughout the rest of my life.
Here's to the unassuming, humble folks of the world who help us get through life in the most expected ways. Get out of your head, look forward and outward however you can, and just breathe.
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