I heard the pop of shattering glass seconds before I saw her: an older lady in her motorized wheelchair, sitting in shock in front of a broken pane of glass on an entry door into the mall. I took in the scene while briefly watching all the people walking by making comments and snide remarks.
Yet not one of them stopped to assist her.
I did. Plus one other lady who walked with the aid of a cane. Together as one, we offered our help. The rest is what happened from there. Here you go, and may you enjoy.
We asked her if she was okay: if she was cut or if she had caused any harm to her body. Both of us brushed the glass of her feet and legs and picked out shards from her small little front basket on the chair.
"I was doing so well," she said.
I looked at her, jarred by the sound of her voice, and the depth of emotion it held.
Her hands gripped the handlebars of the steering column and I watched as they shook uncontrollably...and then I realized she did not have complete control of her bodily actions. I realized that she ran into the window because her reaction time was dulled; not by age but by an affliction I may never know.
My heart went out to her and tears welled up in my eyes. The other Good Samaritan asked once more if she was okay and I picked up on her slight yet thick familiar accent. "What part of Newfoundland are you from?" I asked her.
"St. John's", she said.
I laughed. "So am I. It would make sense that the only people who came to her aid would be Newfoundlanders." We both laughed and the lady smiled at us.
As security guards showed up to take care of the broken glass, I walked away and started to think of the irony of it all. There were only three of us and yet all three were, at some point, in the same similar position at one time on their life.
Let me explain. You had the older lady in the motorized wheelchair, the lady with the cane, and me: once upon a time I was encased in a body cast made of fibreglass and plaster. I was defenseless; I had no control; I could only depend on the kindness of strangers; I could only depend on my Mother...at one time in my past I was as helpless as a newborn baby at the tender age of twenty six years old.
Three individuals who were all in three stages at one time in their life. I thought about life and what I was being told; why I had walked by at that exact same instant; what message was being shown that I was not seeing...all of these and more rushed through my head.
I came to the conclusion that I must do something more; that I must not waste any more time on trivial worries and that I must start it now...but start what? Start where? Do I drop out of school and enter a law program in order to fight for the rights of the underprivileged? Do I start up a campaign and raise funds for those who have nothing to eat or no place to sleep or who are unable to pay rising medical bills?
Then, in the midst of all my mental clamour and distress, my Island girl talked to me and pulled my thoughts from my head. She told me that I will do what is needed; that I will make it right one day; but that today was not that day. Write, she said, just write and do what you are meant to do. We both know you were saved from death in order to become something more; we both know you are protected. For that matter, she said, we are all protected but it is only that we all do not realize it.
"Life is happening all around us", she said. "You only hear of a person being kidnapped in Trinidad, but do you hear of the collective Islanders saying prayers for their safe return? Do you hear of the novena's and countless prayers being repeated again and again to ask for God's help?"
"No", she said, "No; because you only hear of the next kidnapping. You only hear of the evil more than the good. It is the evil that sells. But good will always prevail. There is more good than there is evil and the sure numbers of that alone predicate success. Life will prevail."
As we stood on the dock, seagulls fluttered all around us, buffeted by the wind and sailing on the currents of air. I was reminded of another time in life when I had stood on another dock and watched other seagulls fly above my head. I was reminded of the gift that I opened that day and a gift I have always treasured ever since.
The gift of life. It is the gift of our present; the gift of time. We all have as much as we need to go and make a difference. To make a difference in your self; to make a difference in those around you; to inspire others to make a difference in them selves. Help those who are unable to help them selves. Shine bright so that those in the darkness can see that there is light up ahead. I have done everything in my power to ensure that I have made the most of that gift since that day I stood on that same dock, so many years ago; yet as fresh as yesterday. I have made sure that no moments are wasted and that every last iota of life is treasured and valued. Nothing should ever be wasted when it comes to our lives. We may only have this one chance.
I am closer than ever to having my book ready to publish. It is a story about failure; it is a story about triumph; it is a story of one man's journey through life. It is mine for all to read and hopefully learn from; to hopefully analyze; to hopefully show just how strong the human spirit truly is. It will be another year before it is ready, but what is a year but a drop of sand in the hourglass of the Universe? What is a year but another chance at redemption? What is a year but a collection of happy minutes and seconds turning over and over on the hand of time until they become the memories of our lives.
Yet not one of them stopped to assist her.
I did. Plus one other lady who walked with the aid of a cane. Together as one, we offered our help. The rest is what happened from there. Here you go, and may you enjoy.
We asked her if she was okay: if she was cut or if she had caused any harm to her body. Both of us brushed the glass of her feet and legs and picked out shards from her small little front basket on the chair.
"I was doing so well," she said.
I looked at her, jarred by the sound of her voice, and the depth of emotion it held.
Her hands gripped the handlebars of the steering column and I watched as they shook uncontrollably...and then I realized she did not have complete control of her bodily actions. I realized that she ran into the window because her reaction time was dulled; not by age but by an affliction I may never know.
My heart went out to her and tears welled up in my eyes. The other Good Samaritan asked once more if she was okay and I picked up on her slight yet thick familiar accent. "What part of Newfoundland are you from?" I asked her.
"St. John's", she said.
I laughed. "So am I. It would make sense that the only people who came to her aid would be Newfoundlanders." We both laughed and the lady smiled at us.
As security guards showed up to take care of the broken glass, I walked away and started to think of the irony of it all. There were only three of us and yet all three were, at some point, in the same similar position at one time on their life.
Let me explain. You had the older lady in the motorized wheelchair, the lady with the cane, and me: once upon a time I was encased in a body cast made of fibreglass and plaster. I was defenseless; I had no control; I could only depend on the kindness of strangers; I could only depend on my Mother...at one time in my past I was as helpless as a newborn baby at the tender age of twenty six years old.
Three individuals who were all in three stages at one time in their life. I thought about life and what I was being told; why I had walked by at that exact same instant; what message was being shown that I was not seeing...all of these and more rushed through my head.
I came to the conclusion that I must do something more; that I must not waste any more time on trivial worries and that I must start it now...but start what? Start where? Do I drop out of school and enter a law program in order to fight for the rights of the underprivileged? Do I start up a campaign and raise funds for those who have nothing to eat or no place to sleep or who are unable to pay rising medical bills?
Then, in the midst of all my mental clamour and distress, my Island girl talked to me and pulled my thoughts from my head. She told me that I will do what is needed; that I will make it right one day; but that today was not that day. Write, she said, just write and do what you are meant to do. We both know you were saved from death in order to become something more; we both know you are protected. For that matter, she said, we are all protected but it is only that we all do not realize it.
"Life is happening all around us", she said. "You only hear of a person being kidnapped in Trinidad, but do you hear of the collective Islanders saying prayers for their safe return? Do you hear of the novena's and countless prayers being repeated again and again to ask for God's help?"
"No", she said, "No; because you only hear of the next kidnapping. You only hear of the evil more than the good. It is the evil that sells. But good will always prevail. There is more good than there is evil and the sure numbers of that alone predicate success. Life will prevail."
As we stood on the dock, seagulls fluttered all around us, buffeted by the wind and sailing on the currents of air. I was reminded of another time in life when I had stood on another dock and watched other seagulls fly above my head. I was reminded of the gift that I opened that day and a gift I have always treasured ever since.
The gift of life. It is the gift of our present; the gift of time. We all have as much as we need to go and make a difference. To make a difference in your self; to make a difference in those around you; to inspire others to make a difference in them selves. Help those who are unable to help them selves. Shine bright so that those in the darkness can see that there is light up ahead. I have done everything in my power to ensure that I have made the most of that gift since that day I stood on that same dock, so many years ago; yet as fresh as yesterday. I have made sure that no moments are wasted and that every last iota of life is treasured and valued. Nothing should ever be wasted when it comes to our lives. We may only have this one chance.
I am closer than ever to having my book ready to publish. It is a story about failure; it is a story about triumph; it is a story of one man's journey through life. It is mine for all to read and hopefully learn from; to hopefully analyze; to hopefully show just how strong the human spirit truly is. It will be another year before it is ready, but what is a year but a drop of sand in the hourglass of the Universe? What is a year but another chance at redemption? What is a year but a collection of happy minutes and seconds turning over and over on the hand of time until they become the memories of our lives.
Live it now. Live it for you; live it for her; live it for him; live it for those that are no longer with you. Just please...live it in the best way imaginable. Attain to that higher plateau and see that it is really not that high after all...and when you do, I will be glad to offer my hand in assistance but most importantly: in congratulations. Live. Breathe. Dream. Succeed. Dance. Laugh. Dream some more. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.
"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." - Leo Buscaglia
