Chapter Eighteen: Hotel Interim

By the time I was released from the hospital I was barely able to get around on a walker. I was given some oral pain killers while I was being weaned off of the morphine. The docs had given me the option of being prescribed vicodin for the indefinite period of time that it would take for me to recover from my injuries, but I turned that one down. As soon as my current bottle of pain killers was consumed I'd just have to learn to live with the pain. My body felt broken, it definitely wasn't the same body I had before the accident. I thought of a mantra for my condition: "Pain is a companion constantly reminding me of how lucky I am to be alive.". I still use it to this day.



My best friend came up with some money to put me up in a hotel for a week and my parents matched him for another week. That would give me a chance for a little recovery time and a lot of reflection before heading to Ontario. I started to wonder why I survived the accident. I should have been killed. I got struck by a van and thrown into a truck. My head hit the asphalt so hard that it broke the bridge of my nose. Why was I alive?



While I was staying at the hotel I saw a documentary on cable called "Last Letters to Home.". The piece featured family members of fallen soldiers reading the last letters to home they received from their loved ones before they were killed in Iraq. It broke my heart. One mother read the last letter her daughter sent her. The letter talked about how she was surprised to find out that she would soon be coming home on leave. She wrote of how she couldn't wait to see her family and how she and her mom would spend a whole week together doing mom and daughter stuff: getting their nails done, shopping and so on. The letter arrived at her mothers house just about the same time the family found out that she had been killed. With tears in her eyes the mother recalled how she had gotten a hold of the military to see if she could have an open casket funeral-one last chance to say goodbye to her child face to face. The military informed her that her request would have to be denied. Her childs vehicle had struck a roadside bomb and her body was damaged beyond all recognition. There would be no opportunity for this mother to ever again gaze into her childs face. Her daughter was 19 years old. NINETEEN YEARS OLD!!! I started to cry so hard I got sick to my stomach. I wanted to turn the channel, but decided that out of respect for the soldiers and their family members that I'd continue to watch. I remember the parents of a bright young man with his whole future ahead of him struggling to get through his last letter. The father read the letter with a lost look in his eyes. He could barely start reading and had to pause three times before he was able to continue. The mother sat by his side with a profound look of anger on her face. Her sorrow had scared her. How could she ever get over her bitterness? I remember a widow reading her husbands last letter. He had joined the service to better provide for his young family. Now the only interaction his children would ever have with their father would be at his graveside. His wife recalled seeing the messengers of death, an officer and a chaplain, walk up to her screen door. They knocked on the screen, surely seeing her sitting in the living room. They knocked again. She said that she pretended not to see them. She knew why they were there. She hoped that she was experiencing some kind of horrible nightmare, and that she would awaken to a life with her husband alive and well. When she finally did answer the door and got the bad news she collapsed to the floor. I asked God "Why did you take them instead of me?". I would have gladly given my life to any one of those service members so that they could come back home alive and in one piece. It was the same kind of question I used to ask God over the death of my brother. It occurred to me that I had survived the accident with some kind of purpose to fulfill in life greater than my own mear existence. I knew that as soon as I was back on my feet that I would have to dedicate the rest of my life to finding that purpose.

Next up: Off to the Evangelists.