"GIVE ME A BRAKE"
Before my father went to be with the Lord, he suffered a series of light
heart attacks. During one of his many hospital stays, it became necessary
to transport him to another facility for rehabilitation therapy. The
driver who was assigned to pick him up from the hospital arrived on
schedule and carefully wheeled Dad up the ramp and into his medical van,
making certain to secure the rear door.
What he forgot to secure was my father's wheelchair. Thus, at every stop
sign, red light, crossing guard and railroad track, this conscientious
driver would come to a full and complete stop. My father, however, would
not. His wheelchair would roll unobstructed all the way to the front of
the van. Then, just as Dad would start to knock on the divider behind the
front seat, the driver would press down the gas pedal, sending my father
rolling back again.
This Bumper Wheelchair Ride continued throughout the entire trip.
Unbeknownst to the driver, my father would roll up, my father would roll
back. Roll up. Roll back. For every mile that van traveled, my dad was
traveling three. By the time they arrived at their destination, Dad was
panting as though he had just run a 10-K in Phoenix in 110 degree heat! He
was sweating, his hair was in his face, his clothing was askew, and he was
hoarse from all the calling out he had done trying to get the driver's
attention.
Needless to say, when the driver parked, walked to the back of the van and
opened the rear door, my father was ready for him. By not securing the
wheelchair, this guy had messed up and messed up royally. This was
supposed to have been a medical transport, not the Indy 500! An
irresponsible act such as that could have cost him his job. Some would say
it should have cost him his job. But Dad merely looked the driver in the
eye (when the world stopped spinning, that is) and laughed, saying, "That
was better than a ride at Disneyland!"
My father had a great sense of humor. No matter how tense the situation,
his dry wit could cut through it, encouraging everyone around him to take
life a lot less seriously. One thing I don't think I ever saw my father do
was worry. That's not to say that he was in denial of life's problems. He
simply chose not to make them his primary focus.
Dad knew he was dying. During hospital bedside chats, he'd often share his
thoughts, his faith, his regrets, and his triumphs. But what I cherished
most were those moments when he would freely share his sense of humor. His
prognosis wasn't something he had much control over, but he did have power
over his attitude. His sense of humor was his armor against life's woes.
And he wore it daily.
- Excerpt from When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Start Laughing"
by Martha Bolton