You were there. You stood next to me, our fingers intertwined staring at the masses. It was Friday night and the plaza was packed. My eyes were closed and I was slowly rocking back and forth, unconsciously giving thanks for having been given the song of my heart.
We were 15, we were twenty, we were 50 and then we were 80. I saw it all. I saw us alone.I saw us together. I saw our children and I saw our grandchildren. We stood together and shared those moments in time. Single, married, children, Bar Mitzvahs, weddings, grandchildren and then we were gone.
It was just myself and the wall. Just myself at the Kotel, head resting against the stone, alone in the night and lost in the thoughts that we think.
Two weeks ago I lay in a hospital bed in Grapevine talking with the docs about recovery and when I would go see the surgeon I mentioned in Mostly Dead Is Slightly Alive.
Two weeks ago I watched this video and thought again about how close I came to making the big move in ’95. I thought about the long and winding road that kept me in the states and wondered how long that will last.
Some of the very few people I have spoken with about what happened the night the paramedics took me away have commented on my having a cavalier attitude about it.
I am not certain how cavalier I have been as I have continued to replay it in my head and think about the moments from that three hour period in which things were dicey.
Not certain I am cavalier as I keep writing about it but then again maybe I have a similar attitude as the older Wilner men.
I am not afraid of death, not afraid of what comes afterwards but I prefer that it not hurt.
Did Dad Save Me Or Did I Save Myself?
The truth is when I was lying on the floor bleeding out there was a moment I thought about letting it happen.
A moment where I shrugged and figured it would solve worrying about retirement and that it would be easy to let go.
It didn’t last long because I decided I want to see what my children do with their lives and I have a list of things I want to do.
I have shared that I asked my father for help and the image I saw. I choose to believe it was real because I love the idea he is watching out for us from beyond but I am ok if it is not.
Because it was me who chose to rally and pull myself up off of the floor.
I thought about it today when I went back to the gym. Thought about how hard I have worked to get myself back in shape and how gently I hit the weights today.
It was hard to restrain myself and not go test this 56 year-old body. Hard not to push the way I want to, but slow and steady wins the race/
I went relatively light but I still threw three 45 pound plates on each side of the dip machine. That is a chunk less than I normally do, but it was important to me.
Important because I am convinced the work I have done throwing the iron around is what gave me the strength to pull myself up that night and hold myself steady.
Significant blood loss drains you of strength faster than you think.
Tell The Story Or At Least Write It
Been thinking again about Springsteen talking about singing Land of Hope & Dreams to Clarence Clemons as he was dying.
Grab your ticket and your suitcase
Thunder’s rolling down the tracks
You don’t know where you’re goin’
But you know you won’t be back
Darlin’ if you’re weary
Lay your head upon my chest
We’ll take what we can carry
And we’ll leave the rest
Big Wheels rolling through fields
Where sunlight streams
Meet me in a land of hope and dreams
Been thinking about how angry I got when Dad held the door shut and I couldn’t wrench it open.
Been thinking about how when my son was little how he told me that if I was shot he knew I would still protect him and his sister.
I nod my head every time I think about that because it is true. Nod my head thinking about how many doors or walls I would tear down, the people I would tear apart to take care of them.
Been thinking about how strong that feeling is and how it played into my not wanting to go anywhere.
They are old enough that I know if something happened they would make it. They would miss me as I miss my own father, but they would be ok.
But I don’t need to let go, I don’t need to walk away because I am still young enough to feel that fire in my belly to go do and to live.
I want it to be like Hunter describes. I want it to be like when I played baseball and ran through the catcher when I was crossing home plate.
I want it to be like when I have played football and have either run the ball up the middle or how when I tackled someone I wanted their teeth to rattle.
To be clear, I never wanted to hurt anyone but I wanted to be damn sure they knew I had come and gone.
Chomping At The Bit
I think part of why I have been so anxious to hit the gym again is because I know things could have gone the other way.
I am anxious to do more than restore whatever muscle I may or may not have lost in the last month. I want to rebuild and restore myself to whatever state I can get to and maintain.
My arms ache today and it is a glorious feeling because it means I am alive and I am challenging myself.
In about two more weeks my blood count should be exactly where it should be for a man of my age but I won’t wait the entire time to begin pushing harder.
I’ll ladder up to it because this ache in my arms reminds me of how much stronger I feel. I am not at full strength yet but damn I am close.
And I have plans for the future. I have things I want for me and a roadmap in my head for how to accomplish them. It is not a question of if, but when.
So I look at that picture of Dad holding me and think about how far we have come, all of the changes, stories and adventures had and yet to be had.
Wisdom comes from experiences and I have had a few but whether that makes me any wiser is debatable.
What I do know is every day is not a given for all of us and that each morning is a gift and that is enough to drive me.
If you want to read more posts you can always click here or if you want a selection of stuff I have written try one of the links below.
- The Advantage Of Being Part of Generation X
- Some Styles Are Eternal- Long Live The ’80s
- Some Things Are Best Left Unsaid
- Welcome To The Digital Graveyard
Leave a Reply