The neighborhood I lived in as a little girl was filled with kids. There was never a shortage of children to play with, and they all became something like family. When I moved away I didn’t think twice about leaving all these neighbors behind – probably because I’d always felt like something of an outsider – but I find myself reminiscing about them these days.
Yesterday I got a call from my mother about a kid I’d grown up with. I’d more or less forgotten that J. was in an accident a month or so ago which had left him paralyzed almost completely, so when my mom told me that he was in rehab at a facility in Philadelphia I was a little shocked. She said that his brother had stopped by the house last night to let everyone know that J. was in good spirits, that he was starting to regain some movement in his arms, but that no one really knew what to expect – they just wanted to get as many visitors to him as possible.
Since I live in Philly my mom thought I might like to stop by. I was nervous, not because I’m unfamiliar with quadriplegia {I briefly dated a quadriplegic in 2008} but because I hadn’t seen him in at least 7 years and I wasn’t sure I was ready to walk into a room where he was existing so differently than the last time I saw him.
Anyway, the long and short of it is, I went. I wouldn’t have recognized him if someone hadn’t pointed him out, because it’s been so long, and he didn’t recognize me. I don’t know what else to say about my visit, except that it was surreal. In front of me was this man who had been like a brother to me, except now he was 25 or 26, and now he couldn’t move his limbs, and now I had to carefully read his lips to understand him because the ventilator made it difficult for him to speak.
There was a moment when I smiled at J. and he winked at me, and in that brief moment our childhood flooded back to me. I remembered the game of truth or dare we played where someone {probably R.} dared him to unhook my bra, he was the first boy to ever do so. I remembered the time we all skinny dipped together in R.’s pool. I remembered so many days and nights spent watching our siblings play together.
I stayed strong the whole time I was with J. I stayed strong as I kissed him on the cheek and walked away. I stayed strong, but now I am alone in my apartment and all I can think about is how tragic it is. He was always so smart and kind and wonderful to be around. What happened to him could have happened to me – to almost anyone I know. I am crying tears for him now because I know that in every interaction I have with him in the future I am going to have to be strong.
There isn’t much of a point to this, it’s just that I need to get it out. And I would like for you all to think positive thoughts for J. and his recovery. And please, please please please tell everyone you love that you love them every chance you can. Please live life to the fullest. And please, help me to be strong for my friend.