Cry Me a River

I don't have one of those walk barefoot in the snow to school stories (uphill both ways of course). In fact, you can subtract snow from any of my childhood stories because that's what California will do for you. But I do have a limping with crutches in the rain story.

During a soccer tournament in high school, I tore a ligament in my ankle. I can still remember the sound and the mud that greeted my fall. I can remember how the swell overtook that bone that sticks out (maybe the fibula?)...anyhow, it was awful. Crutches are awful. Trying to fit into shoes with an air cast is also awful.

On one of the earlier days of my injury, I found myself without a ride. I waited and sulked and finally started walking, the not so terrible distance, home. But with each step I felt the pain and humiliation growing. The pain under my arms was growing as the crutches started rubbing and my ankle was throbbing. And I was feeling sorry for myself. So sorry, in fact, that I started crying. I would look at every car pass and think, why aren't they stopping to help me. I surely look pathetic enough. I started blaming each and every person and my pain and sorrow started to mix with anger. I had decided that it couldn't get any worse. And at that very moment, it started to rain. Rain. I had an umbrella, but it was useless as my hands were very much engaged in walking with the crutches. So, I had two choices: to keep going in the rain, or stop and stand with the umbrella. The martyr in me pushed me on.

I still was crying, but I was less angry and more resolved. I somehow accepted what was going on. And it was then that a friend drove by. Hannah, you may not remember, but I will never forget. In that moment, you were my salvation and hope all rolled into an Astro minivan.

~ ~ ~ ~

Last night, I heard that same pop. My ankle isn't as swollen, but it is the same one. My injury that won't go away. And as I was carried off the soccer field in tears, I couldn't help but remember what had happened Junior year so long ago. My drive home was filled with some of the same reactions, but decidedly more of the acceptance. I stopped holding on to the "what-ifs" and started thinking about the "what next's."

I have noticed that if you spend too much time re-living "the moment" it becomes larger than life. You make it bigger by all of the effort you spend thinking and rethinking and analyzing and reanalyzing. I have decided that the "what could I have done differently" stops becoming effective when it isn't about affecting change in the future.

And I want to live life looking forward (even if it with a big large boot that makes me look helpless).