What were we doing the day before the accident? The day of the accident?
We were packing, planning for our trip to the beach in Chincoteague to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary.
In a split second, our lives changed, 5 years ago on 6/11/15, when my husband, Arthur, was in a motorcycle accident.
Life is now divided into Before the Accident and After the Accident.
When I scroll through my phone, I see photos from May, 2014 when we took my mom to Alexandria for lunch and shopping. I see photos from April, 2015, Arthur is in our yard, playing ball with the grand kids. Photos of us on vacation hiking up a mountain or photos of us dancing at Glen Echo or his nephew Stanley's wedding, September 2015.
2 months before the accident, 1 month before the accident, the Christmas before the accident, his last Christmas being able to walk. Who knew that 2015 would be the year that would change our lives?
We know so many motorcyclists. And most have been in one or more accidents, several broken bones, hospital stints. And still they get up and ride again.
We had no idea that a year after Arthur got his motorcycle, he would have an accident that he wouldn't fully recover from.
When we drive on the highway now, I look with envy at the motorcyclists and their passengers. It was me on the back of that motorcycle not too long ago. It was me and Arthur who suited up and rode on gorgeous sunny Sunday afternoons, stopping for lunch at an out of the way place.
It does no good to say, "Why me, why us?" I wouldn't wish what happened to us on anyone. Still, it begs the question, "Why?" Why have others been able to ride for 30 years or more? Why was this journey we were on together cut short?
I run through the "What ifs." What if we had listened to our friend? While at dinner at a friend of ours we discussed getting a motorcycle at our age. Lee said, "Over 60 is the highest bracket for motorcycle accidents. A foreshadowing of events to happen."
In our car driving Arthur's teenage son home, Arthur brought up getting a motorcycle. His son was concerned. 'What are you afraid of?" I asked him. Afraid of him getting into an accident and getting hurt or killing himself. Foreshadowing.
None of this stopped the process. Arthur took the motorcycle class and passed. I wanted a trike. I thought it would be the safest bike. My daughter said, "Mom, anytime you're riding without any protection, it's dangerous." I thought having 3 wheels would minimize the risk. I couldn't convince Arthur. He said, "They're too expensive!" Instead, he purchased a teal blue Kawasaki motorcycle with "training" wheels. He thought that was equal to a trike.
And after the accident happened, I thought, 'What if he had gotten the trike?" And my daughter said, "Mom, if it was meant to happen it would have happened no matter what he was driving. If it was his time, it was his time."
It's the what-ifs that can drive you crazy. What if we had never gotten the motorcycle?
And It's comparing life as it is with life as it was.
It's so easy to wish it had never happened. Who wouldn't?
When my husband doesn't want to fly, which he regularly did before the accident, it limits the vacations we can take together. He's afraid. And I get it. Something might happen to his custom wheelchair. I talked to flight attendant on my way to Hawaii about travelling with a wheelchair. She said, "If you can bring it with you stow it on-board, it's better than sending it with the suitcases." She said she knew of one situation where the wheels were bent and the wheelchair was unusable. These are custom wheelchairs that cost thousands of dollars and months to build. A CVS wheelchair doesn't work for paraplegics living daily life. The wheelchair IS their legs.
I've had to convince EMT's to bring Arthur's wheelchair in the ambulance with him. They said, "We're not sure there's going to be room." I told them, "These are his legs! He needs his wheelchair!"
And there's the emotional side too. What fun is being in Hawaii if we can't go on the beach and hold hands? We both feel this way. We grieve walking on the beach together, feet in the sand, collecting shells, watching the waves.
And those big puffy wheelchairs are not an option. They are too high for Arthur to transfer into and very difficult to navigate on the beach.
So the man who used to travel by plane with me before the accident is no longer available.
And dancing. We used to go ballroom dance together. We were especially good at the waltz and the cha-cha. We went to balls, Arthur in his tails and me in my gown. He loves dancing and just beams when he's out there.
I've looked into wheelchair dancing but there are none in our area. Occasionally, we do listen to music and we'll go out on the dance floor together. But it's not the same as him holding me close during a slow dance.
Before/After.
Arthur was the main babysitter for our grand kids. He was so wonderful with them! He would play ball, take them for rides in the wagon, hold them, change them.
He recently asked me about babysitting one of our grand kids and said, "I know you would have to do most of the work."
And that pretty much sums up our life. Arthur is independent. He can stay for days by himself if I am away. He can cook, use the microwave, load the dishwasher, wash clothes. He can drive, go food shopping and take himself to his doctor appointments.
But if something falls on the floor after he's in bed, it's me who has to look for it. If he forgets his phone in the kitchen, it's me who gets it for him. He doesn't want it to be this way. He would give anything for it not to be this way. But it's the way it is. He does as much as he can. And I do the rest.
It's the reality of our situation. It's so much more than not walking.
Recently, at an art gallery opening in Glen Echo, MD, there were no handicapped parking spots available. An SUV had overflowed partly in the handicapped space. The owner saw me looking at his vehicle ( I check for handicap tags) and asked, "Can I help you?" Yes, your car is partially parked in the handicapped spot. He said, "That guy seemed to manage" pointing to a vehicle illegally parked in the van accessible striped lane. He didn't understand what was wrong with his parking.
That's the after. People insensitive to how hard it is to be in a wheelchair, to have limited mobility and then to have to fight for what others take for granted - a parking spot. I've had people yell at me because they were parked illegally and I was calling the police.
Life was so much easier before the accident in many ways. How can we not compare? How can we not wish for things to be different?
Four years after the accident, we are still adjusting. It's an ongoing process.
Angela DiCicco
8/1/19.
Excerpts from Go Fund Me updates for Arthur Morton.Labels: caregiver, daily living, education, grief, living with a paraplegic, paralyzed, paraplegic, wheelchair
