What The Man In The Wheelchair Taught Me About Caring

mother and her dead son statue

I’d like to share what I experienced the other day. It was on the bus. In the front row was a veteran, trembling in his wheelchair, still wearing his USA attire. His hair was long and grey; he looked worn out. At that moment, I wanted to see his point of view. I wanted to understand him a little better. I imagined what it would be like to experience life through his eyes.

The fight was tough but it was exactly what I had wanted. The amount of vigilance necessary in order to survive was demanding, I thrived off of that. Every day you don’t give a fuck what goes on out there, you go out there to do what they want you to do. There is a mission to accomplish and you’re making sure you keep your part, because you know you’re capable of it. When else are you tested to your full potential? This is what I live for, and if you would like to watch, go right ahead. Enjoy the show because I’m a fucking monster.

I imagined the days that made him a veteran and I pictured him as a total badass. I felt the thrill and surge of power that comes when you’re defending yourself. You’re sent over there for a reason, making your sole priority to accomplish the goal and survive. I could feel the hustle that it required.

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The Other Night

Night_spectre_of_the_brocken

We cross through the tunnel at 12:01. My dog and I enjoying the greatness of the night; him with his head out the window, me with my mind. The cool breeze coming in, smelling of beautiful mist and reinforcing why it is that I love to drive. I’m in the zone, feeling the vibrations of the wheels rolling on the pavement, the soft whirring of the engine as we cruise down the street. Almost home. We come to a stop at the corner; the traffic light paints the street red, and just like the children’s game, nothing moves. The constant tick-tick-tick-tick of the blinker as I look both ways before making a right is the only sound around. I proceed to make the turn and now the sweet sound of the steering wheel gliding through my hands fills me with calmness. I don’t know what it is but that sound has always soothed me; leather on skin, oh what a great combination.

Instantly that feeling is gone, but the stillness that blankets the neighborhood remains. Standing in front of me, waiting just down the road, is the angel of death. Dark and cloaked the way it’s always described, but much greater, much larger, making it’s presence unavoidable. I look to the passenger seat and see Timmy staring forward with intent, focused on what lies ahead.

“Well, let’s see what it wants”

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