stone savage

“You should have called an ambulance… another day or two and you could have died. - an angry bedside-manner-impaired Emergency Room Doctor at Vandenberg AFB, CA in 1990

I will never forget those words. I could have died. Me! I could have died for no good reason at the ripe old age of nineteen.

I remember lying in the trauma center room thinking about his words and feeling so afraid, freezing cold, and alone. I remember the very kind nurse who held my hand and talked to me. I remember watching her eyes move about as she spoke. I remember smiling when I figured out what she was doing and I struggled to speak. I asked her if she was just trying to distract me. She paused a moment then smiled with a true compassion as she admitted to the conspiratorial ruse just before the IV needle found its mark. I remember them flushing the fluids through me by squeezing bag after bag of fluids into my veins. I remember being confused and not understanding why any of it was happening.

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There was a lot of rushing around in and out of the room with blood pressure checkers, temperature checkers, and blood vial takers, I remember all of that. I also remember a lot of hushed and hurried discussions everyone wanted to have with anyone but me. I remember arguing with the doctor about staying in the hospital, though I cannot now remember why I tried to refuse admission.

Eventually after what seemed like an absolute eternity in that cold but very active trauma center room, I remember my parent’s best friends showing up at the hospital and being allowed to come see me. I was never so happy in my whole life than in that moment when I could see them smiling at me and telling me it was all going to be okay - and then they promptly turned around and walked out of the room to talk to the doctors.

I believed them, of course. Why would they say something to me that was not true? They were my parent’s friends and if they said it was okay then it meant it was okay. I had supreme confidence at that moment, and I remember finally feeling like it was okay to close my eyes and fall asleep.

I do not remember how long I stayed with them in their home as they nursed me back to health. I only know it took a long while to be able to eat or drink anything beyond a few small spoons of Jello and a few swallows of Gatorade. Now that I think about it, this may be the reason, to this day, I consider “red” to be an actual food group.

Nevertheless, the important thing is what that event did to me on a fundamental level. It changed me forever. I went from being the socialite kid involved in everything under the sun and burning the candle at both ends with work, school, church, sports groups, outings, trips, dating, friends, and figuring out how to live on my own - to the person who found majesty in the organization of ants; I became someone who befriended few, but befriended keenly; I learned to know the difference between what mattered and what did not.

Perhaps it is this singular event in my life that has caused me to be so different from all my contemporaries. I am ill-concerned with the latest trends or fads; I could truly not care less than I already do about societal judgments; and I definitely put more value into making a difference for others than in valuing the difference others make for me. Somehow coming face to face with your own mortality has a way of altering your world view. Everything matters in a way that never did before, and all that once mattered no longer does. It is a sort of freedom I cannot describe while simultaneously being truly heartbreaking.

Everything changes in that instant and you begin to see everything in a whole new way. You even appreciate the smallest and most mundane of things. Have you ever wondered how it is that fog hovers so effortlessly and envelopes so completely? Have you ever noticed how incredibly huge the ocean is and how beautiful the sun is as it sets over her horizon? Do you notice how many ants scurry in and out of your path as you go throughout your day? How many bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds did you notice today? When is the last time you counted the petals on a daisy? When you see a puddle do you ever give in to the urge to jump in it?

I do. I think and do all of that - all the time. I am as childlike as they come and yet able to understand as only a seasoned adult can. I have not a care in the world to what any person might think of me when I splash into a puddle, or step to the unmeasured far away music of my own drummer. I feel empathy, I give compassion, and I love without reservation at all times. These things are the result of coming face to face with your own mortality.

Life really is far too short to look back with regret. Enjoy every moment because you just do not know how random this spinning blue ball we call Earth really is. Live today and every day for you and for those things that make your heart sing. Stand up to your fears. Give in to your indulgences every now and then but never compromise your integrity. Experience a 7th-Inning Stretch first hand. Enjoy the laughter of children with your eyes closed. Watch a squirrel and let the squirrel watch you, too.

If there is anything I can say to you that I learned from that experience of my youth, it is this - see the world the way a child does free of the baggage life tries to hand us. At the same time parent yourself so that you encourage your own soul to soar and that you always strive to be better than you were the last time you checked in on yourself.

Live rather than exist. Until the day I had an irritated doctor scold me for my carelessness with life, I never knew the difference. Here’s to hoping you need less convincing than I did.

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