Jul
And We’ve Never Even Met
Four years ago this month, I had my world turned upside down with two words: Multiple Sclerosis.
I remember that moment like it was yesterday. It was completely unexpected and more than a little scary. I was, after all, a mom (with a then 7 and 11 year old), and things like that aren’t supposed to happen when you’re a mom.
Or so I thought…or, rather, thought in terms of me.
I quickly found out I was wrong.
The next year was a little nuts with a number of things going on in my life at the same time (with denial about the disease being near the top of the list). I knew what M.S. was and I knew what it could do. Yet I still felt that if I put off the decision on meds and stayed far away from the countless internet sites on the disease, I could pretend it wasn’t real.
Wrong again.
Eventually, I pushed past the denial and made the decisions that needed to be made. The second year, then, became about learning…and adjusting…and accepting. Once that second year was over, it was on to forging ahead (while simultaneously moving halfway across the country).
Which brings me to now. There are times, when I think back, that I can’t help but be proud of where I am–I’m feeling great, my career is better than ever, and my life, overall, is pretty darn good. But there were some mighty rough seas to charter to get to this place.
For some of those choppy waves, I had a hand (friends willing to listen or nudge when needed). For some, though, I simply swam alone.
But even when I swam alone, I had certain images that kept me moving. One of those images was a fellow writer I’d never met (still haven’t to this day) yet had been put in contact with by a mutual friend. This man had (has) M.S., as well, and was able to answer the kinds of questions I needed to ask. Those email exchanges helped more than I can ever say. Yet it went beyond that, too. This man helped me by simply being.
A few weeks ago he biked in his first 600K (to read about his journey, click here).
That’s right. A 600 K. With M.S.
Keith was a life raft for me in many ways, making me believe in me again. And I will be forever grateful to this man I’ve never met.
Recently, I had my chance to be a life raft (something I hope to be many times over) when I got an email from a co-worker of a librarian I met at a conference a few years ago. This co-worker has M.S. and needed an ear. So the librarian sent her in my direction and we’ve been emailing ever since.
I don’t know that I’ll ever accomplish a 600 K ride in my lifetime (mainly because I’m not–nor have ever been–much of a biker). But I hope that something about me and my drive will help this woman in the way Keith has helped me.
It’s about paying it forward, I guess.
So how about you? Have you ever had (or been) a Keith in your life?
~Elizabeth
If you follow the link above to Keith’s piece on his 600 K, you might find yourself wondering what a brevet is (I know I certainly did). If so, check this out: http://www.veloweb.ca/randopage.html
July 21st, 2010 at 10:36 am
I can’t count how many people have appeared at my side, at just the right moment. Some were there to lend me strength or guidance. Others were there because they needed my strength, my experience.
In most cases, I didn’t recognize the exchange for what it was.
Only later did I see how a conversation or chance meeting redirected that person’s orbit, or mine.
I’ve learned that, those times when I feel I’m helping someone else–in some way, that person is helping me.
Genuine gratitude is something I need to practice. Thanks for helping me remember my blessings today. They are many.
July 21st, 2010 at 1:55 pm
I’ve had several people who have been at my side that I didn’t even know were there guiding me towards the right decisions for me. I’ve been able to give assistance to new workers who came from the same background as me on how to survive their first year in the workforce.
July 21st, 2010 at 5:04 pm
For me it’s putting a calming influence on scary subjects, maybe the same as what Keith did for you. I’ve been there for several people who’s family members who’ve been facing the same challenges I’ve faced. I think it helps to have the point of view from someone who’s been there.
Joe- you are the best.
Dru- that first year can be scary. I’m glad you’ve been there for the people you’ve helped.
July 21st, 2010 at 9:12 pm
You know, it’s not a person per se that was my Keith but a song. My mom died suddenly in November 2001. She was only 60 years old and had a massive heart attack while getting ready for work on Monday morning. It was a few days before my 30th birthday and I had a 5 month old that needed ear surgery. My parents had never discussed any funeral plans, my father was never the type of person to step up in a crisis and my two sisters had been estranged from the family for a decade. It was all on my shoulders.
I never cried. I never freaked out. I was never not capable that whole week of paperwork and planning and decisions despite the fact that I was completely lost.
When I was driving to work the Monday after the funeral it was the first time I’d been alone since my mother had died. I turned on the radio to hear Sarah McLachlan’s Angel playing. It hit me like an avalanche. I felt better than I in over a week and worse than I had ever in my life. But I was dealing with it.
When I got home that night I dug out the cd I had with that song on it and put in it my car. I played that one song on repeated in my car on every commute nonstop for 3 months. Sometimes it made me cry but mostly it made me feel which people seem to not want you to do when you’ve lost someone.
Now, anytime I hear that song I am reminded of how strong I can be and how much better it is to feel hurt and lonely and desperately sad than to have a numb icy spot inside.
Angel is my Keith, I guess.
July 21st, 2010 at 11:27 pm
It was my honor, and thank you for still thinking about it all this time later.
One of the unexpected good things that comes out of living with MS is you find yourself able to help people sometimes. The newly diagnosed are always scared. I was, you were, somebody I was corresponding with last week was. People who don’t know what it’s like can’t comfort them. But we can.
I sometimes wonder whether my bike posts are doing people with MS any disservice. If somebody reads them and takes heart, that’s great–but if somebody reads them and then thinks an acquaintance with MS is faking some portion of their debilitation (“Hey, this guy has MS and he can go 400 miles on a bike, and you can’t even walk across the room! You charlatan!”), then that’s bad.
I don’t worry too much about it, though. They’re not MS posts, after all. They’re bike posts.
Anyway. I’m glad I could help, and I’m glad you get to pay it forward too.
July 22nd, 2010 at 9:22 am
Thanks, everyone!
Aimee, LOVED what you said about the icy spot inside. Wow. Just wow.
Keith…you’re the best.