So I went to Publix the other day. And just like any other day… I parked my car in the parking lot, and went inside. And just like any other day, I grabbed a cart. But not just like any other day, there were things I could not buy.
And when my eyes first met up with the bread aisle, I was extremely grateful that I had the foresight to freeze my previously purchased and older loaf. Living through hurricanes taught me as much.
So, I could not buy the bread that I wanted.
I kept shopping.
I could not buy toilet paper.
And, living through hurricanes - did not teach me or forewarn me on that one.
Nope - no one really saw the toilet paper challenge coming our way. Not even those already prepared for days without power and those who’ve lived through many hurricanes.
In fact, there were a lot of things I could not buy. I won’t name them all here, as that is not my point.
My initial point is this - I made do. I adapted. I pushed on. I stayed positive. I shared my ideas with others on how I am coping. I still joked about it all. I remained silly and sarcastic. And I kept talking - despite how differently we all might perceive our new reality.
Because at the same time, there were many items I could buy… many items in my shopping cart. Many items the cashier scanned through their purchasing system. Many items now settled nicely inside my very cold refrigerator and freezer and pantry and medicine cabinet.
You see, how we react to what is placed in front of our eyes, is sometimes more important than what is actually placed before our very eyes.
I did not cry these past weeks. Although I wanted to. I did not give up. Although the thought did cross my mind. I did not fight over perceived differences. I only joked about it all. With sarcasm and humor yes, but truly just joking around. And many others are now doing the same.
I have been in contact with countless individuals each and every day these last weeks. And what I witnessed - has been the absolute best of humanity.
Each person who I speak and interact with is nice. Kind. Optimistic. And yes, scared.
But all of them keep their composure in public. All of them do not want to spread further fear. And panic.
There was another common theme to every person I recently met. They said that people are talking to each other once again. People are civil. People are reaching out to those they have not spoken to in years. And then, other people are responding in kind.
Specifically, people are putting their differences aside. And communicating like human beings again.
At the end of one conversation, one man thanked me for speaking with him.
We took time to pause for a few minutes. We took the time to genuinely inquire about each other’s well being. Any politics and beliefs and religions and all other differences aside. We are speaking to one another. But most importantly we are caring for one another.
And as the conversation with that one gentleman came to an end, he said that this was the best conversation he had in a long time. I said I completely agreed. He went on his way. I don’t know his name. I probably will never see him again. But each person an individual meets and interacts with has the crucial ability to set our future toward a different path. A more optimistic path. If merely, we react to others in a better way.
When I exited Publix, the very first thing that caught my attention while walking to my car was a beautiful dog. One of God’s special creatures. A creature who bestows special gifts onto the living world.
This precious doggy was sitting at attention. He was watching the exit. Waiting for his owner to leave the store. This angelic pup could not be swayed. This canine could not be distracted. He or she only had eyes for his partner in life. He could not be disturbed in any way.
And yes, I did try.
How could I resist? The little cutie pie! I said, “Oh hello!” And then told him how cute he was. I said, your owner will be out shortly.
But, you know what? His gaze never waivered. His look was of determination. His spirit and love - fully alive in his soul. Waiting. Being diligent. And forever faithful.
I said a few more nice things to this adorable little creature and then went on my way. His gaze never once removed. His eyes locked on the front doors of Publix.
As we were loading up the trunk, I noticed the next people coming out of the store. Individuals, couples, families.
Each of them stopped to talk to the adorable doggy.
Each of them wanted a response from the dog - just like I did.
I watched the humans. And I watched the dog...
Each of them saw pure love in a golden hew.
But that dog’s gaze never strayed.
I will not forget that dog. He made such an impression on me. Enough of an impression, obviously, that I felt compelled to take a photo. To capture the spirit in his eyes. To soak in his determination and faith and unwavering love for another human.
These weeks have been a challenge. Not just for me. Not just for those I have talked with. But for everyone.
Every single living human being on this planet is now touched in some way. Touched by a faceless evil.
An evil we are now at war with.
Yes, we are at war - with a virus.
An evil that knows no discrimination. An evil that has destruction in its wake and in its path. An evil that knows no age, no race, no creed, no ethnicity, no sex, no gender, no hair color, no appearance, and certainly doesn’t care whether we look like a million damn dollars, or if we - uh hmmm - could really use a manicure or a hair cut.
No - CoVid 19 does not care. It only cares about eating us alive. It only cares about its own survival. And growth. And spread. And mutation. And adaptation. And to gain even further power over us. To swallow us whole. To suffocate us.
And in order for us to survive against this evil we will have to suffer. And in order for it to be destroyed - we also have to suffer.
You see - we - every single human being - has now been called to action.
We not only have to act. But we have to REACT.
We have been summoned. We have been tasked. We have been deployed.
In order for our evil to be destroyed - it will require the will and determination and action and reactions of every single human on this planet. Not just a single city. Not just a state. And not just a single nation.
This evil requires countries. Nation states. Global powers. The entire world.
We are all called to battle.
Yes, everybody has to sacrifice.
I tend to talk a lot about the following key words:
And, in the end - It’s always our reactions that win the day.
Or worse off - it’s our reactions that lose the day too.
And thus - the war.
We’ve REACTED to evil many times in the past.
On one very special Christmas during World War I, troops on both sides of the trenches put aside their different causes for a single night. Far in the distance, the songs of Christmas could be heard. Song. And then, once heard, many reacted to the sound of song, and joined in themselves. Soon, trenches were abandoned, and humanity came together. The two sides were no longer at war with one another. They stood in no-man’s land, as equals, and as humans. Sharing their different worlds they lived in. Even speaking one another’s language with each other. Think about that. Their extremely passionate differences put aside, all to make it through a somber time, together.
We reacted to the bombing of Pearl Harbor. And it was a REACTION felt round the world.
And after that bombing, we were told that the only thing we have to fear - is fear itself.
We reacted to North Korean aggression - as they crossed the 38th Parallel, and attacked South Korean sovereignty.
We REACTED once again, to September 11th, 2001. America - invaded - by a foreign enemy. We did not initiate. We did not ask for war. We did not want violence and evil and death and destruction and very horrific terrors. But all those evils came our way anyway - and, thus, we reacted. With the full military and civilian might built and instilled and festering inside our souls.
By coming together.
Yes - We’ve reacted many a time throughout human history.
And we must now react, once again.
American’s must come together.
In fact, the entire world must come together on this one, folks.
Yes, our evil is a virus. Yes, our evil has no face. There are no planes crossing the Pacific in secret, set out for destruction from the sky above. We are not focused on the 38th Parallel dividing line on a map. I am not talking about an enemy so determined to fly a plane - but not at all determined to land it.
Yes, our evil is completely and utterly invisible.
And sometimes, and making this all the more scarier, is the need for awareness in the fact that it’s those invisible evils which are the strongest ones to battle against. They require all our will and force. All of us to be very brave. All of us to sacrifice in some way. And all of our humility.
All of humanity.
It’s sorta like when you’re playing a video game. And then in the final battle scene of each land within the game, you face the evil villain.
Ahhh, that climactic battle scene. With scary music, and scenery, and sounds in the background. All leading you to the horrific villain.
That villain is ruthless. That villain has eyes as red as the devil himself. Sometimes that villain breathes fire.
And burns his opponent.
One life down.
One less life left in the game.
And sometimes, that evil villain inside the final battle scene… literally POPS out of nowhere. Hidden behind a corner.
As you are running up, up, up, sword in hand, to save the Princess in the Castle. You round that final corner, on your way to certain victory, when you are shocked to near death and awe. That evil, red-eyed, fire breathing dragon was invisible. Waiting in hiding. And absolutely and utterly camouflaged into the dark and desolate and dirty brick and mortar of the castle walls. Hiding there. Biding his time. Just waiting for you to come at him. And then… Attack.
You are shocked.
You are down on the ground.
You fall deep into a hole.
Or down a green pipe.
You have to struggle out.
Fighting for air.
HE - EVIL - has the advantage.
EVIL - has the upper hand.
EVIL - is one up on you.
EVIL - caught you off guard.
EVIL - watches you in shock.
And EVIL… waits for your reaction.
Yes, your REACTION.
When you get knocked down, the always and forever question is - will you get up again?
Will you - live to die another day?
Will you - put up the fight of your life?
Will you - hit back?
And ultimately - will you - do all this, while keeping your humanity?
While keeping civility? While following guidelines? While educating yourself about that fire-breathing dragon? How does he live? How does he survive? And thrive? And what is his weakness? What scares him back into the brick and mortar? What burns him to death? What is required for the destruction of his evilness? Because you can’t fight fire with fire, right?
One fire pitted against another in the same small room only makes that fire more powerful and more quickly devouring the entire area. And then - it spreads. Gaining power. Beyond one room. More powerful, more heat, more burn, until it burns the whole house down. Left unchecked with nothing standing, nothing left alive in its path. Eventually swallowing the house itself.
Or - it can be snuffed out. Somehow...
No - you can’t fight fire with fire…
You fight it with water.
You fight evil with life itself.
Our federal government has called us to action.
All of us - living and breathing humans.
The challenge and ask is for fifteen days.
15 days to help change the world.
15 days to react to the summons.
15 days to follow repeated guidelines.
Every one of us is mentioned in this summons.
Every one of us plays a part.
If even one single person did not partake in The Christmas Truce of 1914, the entire spur-of-the-moment event would have ended in carnage and bloodshed and death all around. As soldiers sang Christmas Carols and played cards and swapped cigarettes and talked with one another as fellow human beings, if merely one single person on either side brought out their weapon of war and started shooting - there would be a completely different outcome to that all-important day in The Great War.
And today, we all must play our part too. No one is sitting on the sidelines on this one. No one gets a free pass. No one is going to the penalty box. We are all in play. Whether we want to play or not.
And some roles are quite different from one another. In fact, some roles could not be more different from one another than if we were all sitting in opposing trenches on a muddy and frigidly cold battlefield on Christmas of 1914.
We may feel like we are fighting different battles. But we are all on the same team.
Yes - In order to win - we must come together. We must play our roles on that same team. We MUST wear the same uniform.
All while, I’d say, for most all of us, this has been one of the most challenging times of our lives.
These days bring much uncertainty.
These days bring destruction and loss.
These days bring the feeling of defeat.
And today may feel very hopeless indeed.
But if we all do our part. The hopelessness doesn’t have to win the day.
And our roles vary greatly:
Some of us should stay home.
All of us should social-distance from one another.
Some of us should shelter in place.
Some of us should be completely and utterly and formally quarantined.
And then, on the complete opposite spectrum - Some of us should report to work as usual.
And absolutely none of us should be having the party of our lives right now.
Yes, put the kegs away my friends.
Spring Break will always be there after we weather the storm.
We have been asked to sacrifice.
We have been asked to give - of ourselves - for the sake of humanity.
This is not the time for selfishness in any way.
This is not the time for bickering. This is not the time for politics. This is not the time to give here, but take there.
This is simply a time for sacrifice. Sacrifice of all kinds.
Some of our sacrifice will be financial.
Whether it’s a loss of money, investments, various business opportunities.
Some of us will lose the very job we love. The job we need. The job we rely upon. And then, knowing what’s reasonably coming ahead of us, this loss will happen to many more people than most alive today can possibly comprehend at the current moment. Our society forever changed by this war.
Some of our loss will be social.
And some of our loss will be our education.
Some will lose out on a magical life experience that can never be fully replicated or replaced in any way ever again.
Some of it will be medical.
Some will postpone elective surgery.
Some very needed and quite necessary surgeries will be gone without.
Patients in urgent need will be triaged.
A disrupted supply chain leading to lack of medicine and a PPE shortage.
Ventilators used at maximum capacity.
Pharmaceuticals on demand.
And some people, sadly, will lose their very lives.
Because there is no war, without loss of life itself.
And there always is a but. And it’s a big BUT.
But If - we do our part. If we play our roles. If we answer our summons, and sign on for duty with all our hearts and energy and strength and determination and will. If we cross the trenches, and come together. Heed the guidelines. Follow the rules set forth by our governments and world leaders. Listen to the scientists. Support our first responders. Pray for our military. Help those who are on the front lines of this battle, all those still needing to be in contact in some way with people who could be infected. Support them, by doing your own part. Fight our own battle and play our own role in this war. And then, after all that, to continue to have faith in humanity.
We then have 15 days…
15 days to help change the world.
Yes, 15 days to bend the curve.
15 days on a path toward destruction of evil.
Who knows where we will be at the end of 15 days? It may be but a single, small step in a larger and grander plan. In a long and drawn-out road map. We may be asked something else of us at the end of 15 days.
I have no idea. And neither do you.
But it is a start.
And I do know one thing.
Our start - our reaction - is imperative to our success.
The bipartisanship I have seen this week has given me hope. And it has given countless others hope as well.
Yes, I have come in contact with many people this week who have said the same exact thing. People are really talking to one another.
The common foes are trying to come together. They are speaking. They are supporting one another. They are working together. They are even praising one another, and asking each other for help.
But better yet - each of the other is actually answering the call to help from their supposed foe.
Yes, I said that right. They are working together, my friends!
And all THAT - is true leadership. THAT - takes courage.
And I know something else.
If they do NOT work together - we will not win this war.
Let’s all put our differences aside. Again, for the sake of humanity.
Let’s all follow their lead.
Let’s all follow the guidelines.
Let’s all do our own part.
Our own part - in this - Our very own World War 19.
As the fire-breathing dragon tries to burn us down with his fire.
Let’s fight back with water.
Let’s all be human again. Let’s all be civil. Let’s all be humorous, and funny, and sarcastic, and just plain silly. Let’s sing together, and let’s laugh together too. Let’s play cards together and speak each other’s languages.
Because we can’t win the war by using fire.
We have to breathe life - into life itself.
And let’s also all be that golden doggy. The precious creature sitting in the back of a golf cart. Watching humanity walk in and out of a grocery store. And as the dog witnesses shoppers stocking up on what goods they can buy, with disappointment and sadness in what they cannot buy. Let’s all have the unwavering faith of this yellow furball.
Sheer will and absolute determination. Forever faithful and absolutely in love. Not caring what others think of his actions. Doing the right thing. Sitting on guard. Not distracted by any temptation. Hopeful and fully believing that at any moment his owner will come walking out the door. A dog - who would give his own life to protect his loved one. Knowing only love, and forgoing all fear.
Facing the world head on. Faith on his side. World War 19 literally happening all around him. Belief and love in his heart. Waiting - desperately, and passionately waiting - to react… to love, coming out the front doors of Publix. ~
Hey there you fine folks - feel free to check out these other stories down below - yes, right here:
2] 3 Wows Plus 1 Piece Of Magic I Experienced At Jacksonville, Florida’s Cummer Museum Of Art & Gardens
3] The Dog Days Of Endless Summer
6] Nine Eleven: Before & After
21] Cinotti’s ~ And Why Life Is Too Short To Not Eat Donuts
23] Faith ~ And Life Lessons Learned Living With Wild & Untamable Hair
24] In Real Life ~ My First Visit To A Southern Living Idea House
26] Deck The Chairs ~ BE THAT CHANGE YOU WISH TO SEE IN THIS OUR VERY OWN AND SHAREABLE WORLD
28] The Scent of Christmas in the Air
34] Merry Christmas ~ And How To Buy For That Person On Your List Who Saved Your Life ~
36] The End Of A Decade & My New Year’s With To You ~
39] The Very Official & Quite Serious Donut Debate Of 2020
41] Minnie The Daschund Mouse & Her Birthday Wish
49] A Picture Worth A Thousand Words ~ Happy Valentine’s Day, World
51] Life Is Full Of Pasta-Bilities ~ Bean’s Red Sauce Recipe
55] The Shamrock
58] Bean’s Corona Kickin’ Chicken
12/23/2019 0 Comments
During the opening scene of the holiday film classic, White Christmas, Phil Davis (Danny Kaye) saves Bob Wallace (Bing Crosby’s) life. It’s World War II. Bombs flying overhead. Rubble and lots of blown up, destroyed buildings half-standing all around. Davis pulls Wallace out of the path of a swaying and then falling, crumbling, and collapsing red brick building wall. He saves Wallace’s life - and injures his own arm in the process.
While in the hospital tent recovering, Wallace goes to visit Davis. To check on him. To thank him. For saving his life.
“It was a life worth saving,” Davis proudly proclaims. And simple, matter-of-fact like. He might as well of said,
“No big deal.”
“I do that sorta thing all the time!”
You see, Davis lived a happy, silly, and very innocent existence. Cheerful all the time, even on the lowest of days, he would find the bright spot, he would always be the jokester. Any scene he was in, it was a scene filled with joy and laughs.
Wallace had always been much more serious. Even in show business, the entertainment business, he was always focused on the Business side of any Show. Wallace and Davis became business partners after the War ended. Wallace - watching the finances - Davis following the dream.
Despite all cost. Money didn’t matter. He had a vision. And he was set to do it.
To convince Wallace to go along with any of his pricey and elaborate schemes, Davis simply pointed to that arm of his. A constant reminder to Wallace that he had saved Wallace’s life…
After all, it was a life worth saving.
Those constant and nagging reminders given by Davis are imperative scenes in the films plot. From that point forward of Davis saving Wallace’s life, every time Davis needed or wanted anything… anything at all, he just points to that arm of his.
So, ever and always hounded by Davis, Wallace repeatedly complied. Following Davis’s every whim, every desire, every dream. Even running to catch a train, and take a long, dreamy, and leisurely and quite lovely ride on the rails up north to Vermont. A trip he originally didn’t want to go on… and sleep in a drafty old club car - with no nice, warm bed? Wallace owed Davis. Big time.
He’d do anything to appease Davis. After all, how do you repay someone who saved your life?
It’s constant, right? For the rest of your life?
There is no amount that can suffice such a reciprocal payment for services rendered.
Wallace understood this. He knew no amount of money could repay Davis for the life he saved under the falling red brick building back during the War.
How much does it cost to save a life? How much would a person pay to be saved? How much does Wallace owe Davis for his act of selflessness and heroism? It was a near-impossible equation to solve. Unless, maybe, getting some insurance adjusters and lawyers, or mediators or other adjudicators, and judges and juries involved to finally solve the problem of Davis constantly pointing to his arm???
No, Wallace would never do that… that would cost more MONEY! Just keep on appeasing him. Just keep on humoring Davis… for the rest of his life. It was worth it. He was ALIVE after all.
In the end, they remain forever friends... And forever grateful of their drastically changed lives and all they had gone through together. War, and horror, death and destruction - to brand new post-war lives, the entertainment business, and finding the loves of their lives, together.
Their happily ever afters.
So, the question remains today in lots of people’s lives… How do you repay the person who saved you? If your life was utterly and literally saved by someone else, how can you possibly repay them? Is there is price tag on that action?
AND FURTHER - when the holidays come around each year, how do you give a gift...what do you buy… for that person on your list who saved your life?
The answer is simple.
I’ve watched White Christmas an infinite number of times. I have it memorized. I can taste the frothy and magical and very appealing drinks in the dining car scene onboard that infamous train ride up to Vermont... “Snow… Snow… Snow... Snow!” I can direct the remake if you’d like me to. I’m an expert.
But, I always used to question Bing Crosby’s character in the film. Wallace never told Davis to SHUT UP, to STOP WITH THIS LIFE SAVING BUSINESS! He never gave in or gave up on him. He never yelled - Stop pointing to your arm! Stop reminding me you saved my life! Stop bothering me!
Well, wait… maybe he did.
“Sometimes I wish the wall had fallen on me…” Wallace complains to Davis.
Awhhhh moans Davis, you don’t mean that!
Maybe Wallace did tell Davis to schedadle. Go away. But in an innocent manner. He never really meant it. That’s why they remained life-long friends. They helped each other through a dark time. That never goes away. Even as life changes in the future. He will be forever grateful that Davis saved his life.
You CANNOT put a price on a life. All life is precious. A life saved cannot be repaid. There is no amount. No check you can write. No card all-encompassing.
When stuffing the envelopes for your holiday cards and you get to the person who saved your life… do you add some extra glitter in their card? After all, they need something extra from everyone else, right?
Sure, every day, in trials and settlements, financial figures are calculated to affix and satisfy lawsuits etc. Insurance companies and attorneys calculate cost-of-life and benefits, etc. etc. etc. Money owed someone over the course of a lifetime - a calculated financial equivalent to compute what a life is worth with a dollar sign. But the money does not make a person whole. And life is not about the money. Which really explains why there is no suitable Christmas gift to give to the person who saved your life.
There is only one way to repay the person who saved you. One Christmas gift you can give them. It is by living your life. A life of gratefulness. Of service. Of thanks and gratitude. Of giving and generosity. Living the amazing and completely priceless life you were given - by that person who saved you...
By living your very best life - each and every day. Only someone who has been saved and pulled from the darkness can potentially even understand this. It just doesn’t happen all the time. That’s why there isn’t a section in the Hallmark card aisle devoted to it. We have - Merry Christmas to Mom & Dad, Happy Holiday’s To My Co-Worker, Dear Grandma, To My Dog Groomer - at Christmas… But where’s the card for - At Christmas… For Saving My LIfe??? I need that card. To give to someone I owe. But it doesn’t exist.
And that’s ok.
The person who saved you understands as much. They just want you to live your life. They don’t want a big thank you.
I know this.
I know this because my life was saved.
Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida saved my life. Both literally and figuratively... Physically and mentally. Three years ago. This will be my third Christmas since my life changed forever.
How can I possibly repay them for what they did for me?
I volunteered at the hospital for a years time. I donate. Etc. Etc. Etc. None of it adds up to how much they helped me. I could hand them the moon - because that’s what I want to do. I owe them everything. I cannot possibly repay them though.
My first holiday season post-treatment at the Clinic, I wanted to do something for them to thank them. Nothing matched my gratefulness. I wracked my brain. There was no money. There was no Hallmark card?!....
I’ve got it!
I’ll bake cookies!
Frosted Christmas Sugar Cookies - to be exact.
So during the holidays of 2017, my husband and I spent an entire weekend in the kitchen. Baking. It was wonderful. After many years of marriage, it was our first time really taking some quality time together to simply do some solid and legitimate baking. And our first real slow-down during any Christmas, ever.
And now, three years later, it is tradition. One weekend a holiday season, we stop everything. We don’t go see any Zoo Lights that weekend, we don’t go see the St. Augustine Nights of Lights that weekend, no Deck The Chairs, no Luminaria, no Christmas Pop-Up Bar, no Beaches Town Center Christmas Tree and lights, and no gingerbread house at One Ocean, we don’t shop at Rockaway Gardens or buy any Christmas greenery that weekend… we simply bake.
I light festive and dreamy scented candles. We turn on Christmas movies in the background. Our apartment becomes a pine and fir and balsam and sugar and dough scented Heaven on Earth. And we bake.
And frost… of course.
By Monday, the day of my follow-up care each December, I go off to Mayo, with a box of sugary and holiday goodness in hand. I check in to my appointment, and drop the box off at the Pain Rehab Clinic. And then go on my way, to meet with everyone else who comes to these sessions, everyone else who has had their lives changed forever by the Pain Rehabilitation Clinic at Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida.
We meet. We attend our sessions. We listen. We learn. We talk. We snack. We dine. We say goodbye. We go on with our lives afterward.
Another two months go by.
We all meet every other month. Coming from places near and far. Driving, flying, and yes, by train ride also. In the interim, we all keep in touch via a private Facebook Group for “Graduates” of the amazing program. We are not merely just patients who have been discharged. We are graduates of a program designed to give us life again.
And we have access to the benefits of the Rehab Clinic for the rest of our lives afterward.
After two months, we do it all again...
But it’s that December session, during the holidays, when I always bring the cookies.
By the end of all the baking and frosting during that wonderful weekend, I have a delicious box of cookies, all wrapped up and ready to go. I try to ‘up my game’ every year. Maybe better-shapes. Maybe better overall presentation. This year, we tried to master the difference between border frosting and flood frosting. I certainly did not “master” it by any means, but it was a great start, and hopefully my cookies will improve even more next year. A great article about border frosting and flood frosting can be found here - one that even a lazy baker can follow.
When I drop off my cookies, I’m proud of myself for just a small milli-second. For “stopping my life” for 48 hours. For dropping everything. To give something to someone else. Something so very simple. But something to show and express my gratefulness. Gratitude goes a very long way. But cookies go even longer.
This post is utterly and sincerely dedicated to all of the staff at the Mayo Pain Rehab Clinic. The doctors. The nurses. The occupational therapists. The physical therapists. Nutritionists. Pain Psychologists. Any and all other staff. The invisible and unnamed hard workers. The ones who stuff envelopes reminding us of our appointments. The awesome woman who always answers the phone. The people who keep all the amazing facilities clean and tidy and safe so that patients and doctors and nurses and other staff can do the life-saving work they need to do to get back out and into the world. The ones who are currently working very hard on building construction to renovate and add to the facility to make room for a whole additional team of patients, who will be able to partake in the program in the near future. Everyone. Thank you.
There are no words.
There is no amount of money.
There is no Hallmark card I can buy.
I can never repay you.
I can bring you cookies. But I can never repay you.
You saved my life.
You brought me back to life.
I know I helped just a little bit. And God did too. And I do give God all the credit here.
But right now, this one’s for you. YOU deserve A LOT of the credit.
I do the hard work it takes each and every day to continue to survive after my discharge and graduation. I know that.
But y’all work so hard too. You deserve everything. You deserve the moon.
You pulled me out from the bombs flying by overheard. You dragged me away from the heavy red brick wall collapsing on top of me. You lifted me out of the rubble and mess. You saved me from war and death and all the destruction it brings with it. All your hard work. All the efforts. Oh, the broken arms all the Phil Davis’s have endured to help save us patients. It can never be repaid. I can never thank you enough.
But you know what? I think you know that.
I think you know… that graduates living our very best lives, and doing our very best work to live a healthy, productive, generous and giving life ourselves, is our way of repaying you… each and every day. And I try to do just that.
It’s a lifetime of work.
Yes, it is for the rest of my life.
As one of the most amazing humans the world has ever known always says and reminds us... this is a lifetime commitment. There is no end date. This lifestyle is a commitment we make with ourselves until we draw our very last breath upon this Earth.
I completely understand what he means in every sense of those words.
So thank you. Thank you for those words. Thank you for your help. Thank you for saving me. But it was a life worth saving. I try my best. I thank you forever. But my life and my life’s work ahead of me is my real thank you to you. I cannot repay you with money. I cannot even explain it in these words here and now.
You know that...
So Sugar Cookies will have to do in the interim.
Thank you Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida.
God Bless the Pain Rehabilitation Center and staff.
This is my Christmas gift to you.
And Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of my very dear readers and subscribers. ~
This personal story is my Christmas gift to you (or someone you know) who can benefit from it in any way. If you, or someone you know, is in pain. If you are struggling. If you feel hopeless. If you are in chronic pain. If you are suffering severe depression. There is always light. There is always hope. I am not a doctor. I cannot save you. My hope with this blog is for you to use me simply as one example. To read about others, and their stories. Learn from them. Seek help. In this article is the physical facility I personally recommend. While everybody's experience will be different and unique to them, I am sharing my experience for others to benefit in any way. In my story, I am specifically referencing the Jacksonville, Florida branch of Mayo Clinic. Mayo Clinic has three branches - they are located in Rochester, MN, Jacksonville, FL, and Phoenix, AZ. In my own personal experience and my own personal opinion and not referring to anyone else’s, they are very different from one another. This article is referring specifically to the Jacksonville, Florida location. Their main phone number is 904.953.2000. Use my story and my example as a push to get you or that someone you know the help they need. YOU are your own best advocate. No one else will ever be able to advocate for you - better than you, yourself, and YOU. Don’t wait for someone else to come along and save you… save yourself… just maybe by letting someone else save you. But anywhere you are, there is help. Get out there… it’s YOUR JOB to get out there... and FIND IT.*
Every year, on this day, when I wake in the morning and look at the calendar, it's just another day… but then I see my phone screen displaying today’s date to me. The phone tells me that it’s Nine Eleven, and I get a sinking pit of a feeling in my stomach. A feeling of doom and gloom. It feels like in a nightmare when I am falling and there is no end ever to the fall; and then wake up scared to death. But that feeling stays with me all day. It’s a feeling of aching and utter real, raw, sadness. And I feel it every single year, without fail, on September 11.
From that point forward in the morning it becomes a very different day than any other of the calendar year. It becomes a very difficult day for me. A day I push myself forward with an extra amount of force. Force necessary to complete my tasks and go about a normal day of activity.
Saying good morning to my husband. And then our first words to each other this day: ‘It’s Nine Eleven.’
Talking on the phone.
Reading and watching the news.
Going to the library.
Tipping the barista a bit extra today at Starbucks.
Crying as I write this.
Choosing a very happy comedy or adventure-filled film to watch this evening with my husband, and my dog-who didn’t live through that day upon this Earth. Choosing a comedic film to not add any more sadness to my day than necessary.
Saying goodnight to the most solemn and somber day of the year.
On Nine Eleven, 2001, I was at the very beginning of my junior year of college. I abruptly quit the cross country team at the start of that school year, after two years of running NCAA Division III collegiate athletics. I always thought it was a rash decision, but I went with my gut, and my gut feeling does not fail me. I also quit winter and spring track, right then and there as well. Fiercely independent - I had always wanted and craved to run on my own; and this decision allowed me to give more time and focus toward my very expensive college education. My grades were not where I wanted them to be. I only had so much time and energy; I was spreading myself too thin. I was confident in my decision and never wavered from it.
My grades immediately improved with that action. I knew I made the right decision. I made a lot of important life decisions during that school year. I became engaged to be married. I moved off campus and into the condo my fiancé and I purchased in the spring of junior year. I continued onward with my schooling. I worked. I planned my wedding. But when I think back on my junior year of college, I always remember that it began with Nine Eleven.
On Nine Eleven I was safe at college in Illinois, tucked far away from the terror taking place to my East. Being in the Midwest, I never happened to know anyone directly affected by the attacks on America that day. And I spent most of that day in the dorm rooms of my friends, watching coverage on tv. That was all you could watch. Everything else stopped. Not being directly affected by the attacks at all, and feeling the way I do each year on Nine Eleven... I cannot even bear to imagine the pain and suffering of people who were directly affected in any way by the attacks.
Being of college age when the terrorist attack upon America occurred, I believe I am a member of the in-between generation. Or, what I am calling the “Floating Generation.” Listen up if you are about my age and ever wondered what generation you fall in. Are you a millennial? Or a Gen X’er? I used to question my generational status all the time. Some days I thought with 100% certainty that I am a Millennial. Then, other days, I think, those silly Millennials!!! I canNOT relate to them at all! There’s no way I am a millennial, am I? I realized that people my age have our very own and very distinct generation. I hover. And float. The Floating Generation. I hover and I float between generational skills and beliefs. I float back and forth and go where the waves of time take me. I can balance that paper checkbook very easily if the internet went down. I can use Apple Pay at McDonald’s in an instant if I forget my wallet. Maybe someday I won’t even carry a wallet? I am a ‘Floater.’ Everyone is born into a distinct generation. It’s up to you to decide which one that is, though, and which one you will put yourself in - even if that means creating your own generation.
I had grown up prior to Nine Eleven. Nine Eleven occurred when I was a very young and very new adult. A young adult making very important life decisions for the very first time. For me and many others, there was life before Nine Eleven and life after Nine Eleven. Just like there was life before smartphones and life after smartphones were invented. And there also existed for us life before social media and life with the advent of social media. Or “Life Before Facebook” as I commonly say. I am of the American generation who has experienced both eras. I lived and survived life before the internet and now live with the internet a part of my life every single day. I know how to live with Facebook, although I have chosen to now continue life without a Facebook account. I know how to balance a paper checkbook, and will be forever and eternally grateful for the banking app on my phone home screen that keeps track of everything for me now. I float back and forth between the two eras, quite easily adapting to any situation on hand, maybe easier than others can adapt. We are adapters. Adapters to the continual and quick-paced changes taking place around us. This Floating Generation appreciates those little things like a bank app more so than any other generation potentially can appreciate it. Because we have seen, experienced, and know both ways of life. Generations coming up and being born now will have those pieces of technology molded into their lives from as long as they can remember back. How will they relate and study and know their past?
At some point in the unknown future, will there exist a generation of humans who don’t know how to live life without a smartphone? Or live life without the internet? I question if the internet will become classified as a public ‘utility’ in the future?... As imperative to life as gas and electricity and air conditioning and heat are now to our way of life? I compare and contrast my life before and life after in my head all the time, as only ones who really and truly experienced both can do so. And I also see life before Nine Eleven, and I see life after Nine Eleven. We are definitely a different nation today than we were before the attacks. Just as the entire world is different today directly because of social media’s never-ending presence, as well as the invention of the smartphone.
On future Nine Eleven’s, there will be more new and innovative inventions that will have changed human behavior and communication yet again. When I go to sleep tonight I will know that this day will come again 365 days from now. The world may be far different again next year at this time. And years into the future. One thing will remain the same though. That feeling inside my stomach. That pit. Because all the technology in the world cannot change the real and raw feeling inside a human heart. And stomach. It will be like the ‘Groundhog Day’ film, I think to myself. The same day all over again. Just 365 days apart, not the next morning. Except this year, 2019, there was one difference for me. Today, this Nine Eleven, 2019 - eighteen years later - I came to the realization that an entire generation of Americans are now legal adults who never lived through that horrific day in America. They don’t know what waking on this day feels like to some. They need to know our history. - how and why things can change in an instant. I pray they are taught what happened.
My dad is a World War II history buff. That’s how I have always thought of him. And when I think of his history knowledge, I then think of the show Seinfeld… The episode where Jerry and George see Keith Hernandez. And Jerry tells George that Keith Hernandez is a big Civil War buff. George is fascinated by the statement. He says he’d like to be a buff. What does one have to do to become a buff? He contemplates. My father is one of those such buffs. Sometimes I think he knows more about WWII than some of the generals who fought in the war.
Recently, June 6, 2019, marked the 75th Anniversary of D-Day. I like to educate myself about WWII. I like knowing as many details as I can. I’d like to someday know all that my father knows about WWII. Yet, I know I will never know as much as my father knows. He knows things that WWII movies get factually wrong. When this past 75th Anniversary came and went, I couldn’t help but think at the time, that someday, it will be the 75th Remembrance of Nine Eleven. And then the 100th. Whole generations come and gone. What will American’s think that day, Nine Eleven of the distant and unknown future? Will they be watching television that day, on some strange futuristic device, and see world leaders from all over the globe come together to remember the fateful day of the past? Will people put flags up and wear American flag tees and pins to remember 9/11 that far into the future? They might, and they will, if future generations are taught what happened. A history which is forgotten is a history that may be repeated. If something is forgotten, how does one learn anything at all from that something?
To the new and waking and growing generations of American’s out there - this is what Nine Eleven feels like to some of your fellow Americans. And next year, on Nine Eleven, Twenty Twenty, we will feel this way again. This is why the American Flag is brought out specifically today, hung proudly outside homes and businesses and in window displays and waving from vehicles all across the country. This is why news coverage is different today. This is why when you Google something today on your smartphone you will see a sad and somber black ribbon just below the search bar, draped gently over the American Flag; a Flag who mourns a loss from 18 years ago today.
And next year, on Nine Eleven, I already know on that morning I will again wake and I will again look at my calendar and see the date; and a sinking pit of a sad and heartbreaking feeling will fall upon my stomach. That Groundhog Day repetitive feeling will come upon me again. Reliving the day with heartache and a profound sadness. And I will go out into society to get coffee, and I will tip the barista something extra that day - whether I can afford to or not. Living the same day, with the same feelings and emotions, again. And tears will come again. Without end on that day of the calendar, Nine Eleven. For the rest of my life. I will never forget.
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