#11 Postby azskyman » Sat Jul 28, 2007 7:38 am
Good morning. You ended my day yesterday with your wonderful story. I'll start out my day before sunrise with one of mine.
This visit with my friend took place in May.
It was 1998, and it had been a couple of months since his stroke. With a hint of a tear in his eye, words flowed from his heart as Tony sat across from me at his rustic old kitchen table. As I sipped the cup of coffee he had just poured for me, he told me of a simple discovery he made that one particular day while he lay in his hospital bed.
"My stroke had taken most everything from me at that point," he said. "I had lost most of the movement on one side, my ability to speak or write meaningfully, and worst of all, the dignity of being able to care for myself in even the most basic ways. I needed help doing everything. And for those first sixty days I was so angry, so frustrated. Hope seemed so hard to hang on to. There I was, not yet fifty years old and trapped inside a body that took more from me than it was willing to give back."
But on that one day, Tony made a discovery.
"I don't remember exactly what triggered the thought, but I began to focus on my left hand. Unlike other parts of my uncooperative body, I noticed I could move my fingers and lightly clench my fist. And I watched. And it worked. I made a discovery that day that changed my life."
In that moment, my friend Tony, once a gifted guitar player in an early 1960's Beatles wannabee band he and I were in together, began a life's transition that took him away from what he could no longer do and toward something he discovered he could. He and his left hand began a journey together. They renewed an old friendship. And that connection gave Tony the spark of hope he needed.
Until the day of his stroke, he had a good job and was not only supporting his family, but also had discretionary money to help all of them enjoy the best life has to offer.
And then it seemed gone forever. That was nine years ago.
In addition to his musical talents, right-handed Tony had dabbled in abstract art. Looking around his house from my vantage point in the kitchen, I could see some splashes of color and spectrums of strange looking art hanging on his walls. Some reminded me of dreams. Disturbing almost. But that was Tony's early work. His first starting point. Back when he had a good job, full use of all his limbs and mental faculties. Back when he didn't need this wheel chair to get around the house.
Tony's words came fast and furious to me that day. At one point he said, "I have so much I want to tell you. So much after all these years."
I had not seen Tony in nearly 40 years. And even in the best of health, how can you ever catch up on so many things over a cup of coffee on a sunny spring morning?
With a huge grin on his face, Tony then pointed up behind me on the wall above the table. There was more artwork. Beautifully soft pastel renditions of children and families and people with smiles. All of them had smiles.
And there, just above my head and over my right shoulder a particular framed piece caught my eye.
It was a wonderful pastel of me and another former member of our band. It was a remarkable likeness of both of us. And we both wore the smiles we had that day about three years ago when we caught up with each other right here in Phoenix. I had sent Tony a photo of our lunch visit at the local Cracker Barrel. The picture was taken right there by the rocking chairs out front!
"My God, Tony, are these pieces of art something you yourself have done?"
"My left hand, the one I carried along as a spare as a right-handed musician and artist, worked with the 'new me' once we rediscovered each other. And with that Tony pointed out framed renderings of his granddaughters and other family members. All done after that amazing discovery he made in the hospital that day."
"Before my stroke, I couldn't draw people. And now..."
Tony and I went on to talk and laugh and smile for another hour that day. With tears at times, we picked up where we left off many years before.
Good friends. Connected friends again.
And as I sit here typing this message to you, Tony's rendering is just three feet to my right hanging on my office wall. When I need a lift, I look at it and smile.
Not every story has a happy ending, but my visit with Tony that day sure did.
Tony stopped short that day of saying his decade in the wheelchair has been all blessings.
But he did tell me that my visit that day was a very very special day. He said he will never forget our visit.
Neither will I. His gift of lifelong friendship and that drawing are both real treasures.
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. He then insisted on bringing us to a nice hotel and got us settled in.Now mind you, i had been away from home for over 2 weeks so we ended up renting a car and drove home and a friend of ours had a plane and he flew my husband and another friend back up to louisville to pick up the car.
