Post by Pony on Feb 8, 2014 16:55:52 GMT -5
Suffering
Last night, spending time at Clearwater Beach, I couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the Florida coastline. The sun was crashing into the edge of the horizon, exploding with a mercurial blend of oranges and purples, greens and blues. The water was slowly swallowing up and spitting out the shore. The smell of sand and salt mixed and swirled through the air, creating euphoric sensations of peace and tranquility.
There, sitting with me and enjoying the environment was my good friend, Karl Balducci. He was an artist that dabbled in various forms, always impressing me with his versatility and intelligence. The two of us were prone to engaging in deep conversations, and this night followed cue. The spark for this conversation, however, was something altogether different.
A few tables over, just a few yards from us, there was a group of three disabled girls. They were all extremely young, 9 or 10 years old at the most. Distressingly, not one of them seemed to be doing well. They couldn’t speak or communicate. The lids of their eyes sagged low, acting as umbrellas that shielded me from seeing too deep into their thoughts. Each head was covered in different shades of hair color. However, all of them possessed the same stringy texture. As the gentle gusts of wind blew through the open-air restaurant, their arms slightly wavered, desperately grasping for something that was apparently out of reach.
Usually, I’m anchored and staunch in my outlook towards life, appreciative for the gifts that I do have. This scene with these three girls only cemented this feeling further. How could I possibly complain about my own situation when people around me are dealing with so much more? I can’t lie; it’s been tough losing the capability to do the things that I love. I miss playing music. I miss the feeling of my hand sliding up and down the smooth neck of my guitar, manipulating sound into sweet, harmonious melodies. I miss performing by myself, lost in that world. I miss standing and stretching my body. I miss playing Basketball, or grabbing the stick-shift in my four-speed car. I miss everything.
But how much more would I miss the ability to think? To write? To communicate? These faculties are the most important things in my life now, and I am truly blessed to be able to appreciate them. I’m blessed to be able to appreciate people more now than ever. I no longer get hung on trivialities. Since my accident, I’ve learned to look deeper into things. I’ve realized that the body is just a shell, and the spirit- the things that are deep down inside of a person- those are the tangible elements of life.
Seeing those girls reminded me of that. Their bodies, their shells, were shattered, but I know that their spirit is intact. This is probably the same emotion that able-bodied people feel when they see me. It’s the pecking order of this world. Unfortunately, in this life, we all have a cross to bear, and some crosses are heavier than others. But the size of the cross doesn’t make the person; it’s how you carry it. Strong, enduring people carry it with grace no matter how much it weighs, and this is what I pride myself on.
Do I suffer? Oh yes. I suffer with physical pain every day. I can feel it in my neck and my shoulders right now as I write these words. It’s a stabbing reminder of who I am and where my place is on the world’s pecking order. This pain has only gotten worse over the years, too. It sinks deeper into my muscles, fracturing my body, slowly tearing me in two. My hands can be frustrating, not easy to type when a muscle spasms, pulling my finger up as I type with a pen. There is no more voluntary movement in my hands to grip a fork easily, but I do it my own way. I endure all of this not only physically, but mentally. It has worn me down, at times.
But I feel pride for the way that I’ve owned this fight, the way that I’ve fought to live a fairly full and happy life. It’s the battle that we all wage each day, a bout to live life to the fullest and persevere. It’s that common thread of struggle that reminds me that we are all human and more similar than different. It’s just that my battle is more difficult physically, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t weather the storm. I’ll endure the heavy rain in order to bask in the sweet warm Sun.
