I was injured in the line of duty on December 11, 2017, shortly after midnight. That is a day I can never forget as it ended a career that gave me so much purpose in life. I had to learn who I was and what I stood for following that. Who was I when the uniform was gone?

I was a very average student in school. Much like a lot of teenagers, doing the bare minimum to get by. I was a freshman in a small rural high school. When you go from middle school to high school, at least for me, I really thought I was something. More concerned with socializing than educating. Do NOT follow my path. Freshman English, I will refer to the teacher as Mrs. R. Mrs. R, to me appeared to maybe be around my grandmother’s age. Of course, when you are young, you think everyone is old. Mrs. R, looking back, she maybe should have retired five years prior. Walking into her classroom, there were many windows, however, the room just appeared gloomy. Nothing exciting or encouraging hanging on the walls, just another classroom. It may as well have been an interior room, it made me sleepy and extremely bored. The first day of any class was always rather dull to me, repetitive; going over classroom rules, expectations, syllabus, yada yada, going through the motions. Mrs. R’s personality was as gloomy and boring as her classroom. Mrs. R sometimes would take a cat nap during class, we watched a lot of movies. The reading list we had that year was atrocious, not at all appealing to a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old kid. The monotony was unbearable. I have always been a jokester. Anything to break the pin dropping silence. At the desk next to me was T, T was a smaller fella. You know at that age, a lot of times, the girls are taller than the boys. Mrs. R was at the chalk board, I could not tell you what she was writing. T was sleeping, I was bored per usual. I intentionally knocked T’s three ring binder onto the floor, it hit with sound that echoed in the sleepy room, boom. T startled awake and Mrs. R wheeled around from her chalkboard. In her frail, yet stern voice, who did that? Obviously, no one answered. T had no idea what had happened, after all, he was napping. I could not hold my laughter in, busted. Mrs. R most certainly did not appreciate the fact that I interrupted one of the rare moments that she was awake and writing on the chalk board. I cannot remember exactly, however, I think she had tried to teach us the Charleston, that was a type of dance from the 1920’s. I believe that same year, sophomore English had gotten a brand-new teacher. We will call her Mrs. C. during freshman English; Mrs. C would always stand outside her classroom between periods. She always had a warm and welcoming smile, much different than Mrs. R. Mrs. C, I would guess was in her early to mid-thirties. I would always peek into her classroom that was thoughtfully put together and so welcoming. Mrs. C was an elegant woman, stylish, her room emitted a scent that reminded me of an expensive perfume store, unlike Mrs. R room, the scent of her room reminded me of my grandparents’ house.  I now know that smell is the smell of vitamins and old fashion cleanliness. I envied the sophomore English students and could not wait to get out of the dungeon. Mrs. R retired at the end of my freshman year, not a moment too soon.

See me like you do: written by Truth as the Tavern

I have realized that I ask a lot of questions. Generally, they are the most random questions too. I would have greatly disliked being around the five-year old version of me, why? But why? I highly doubt that I ever got past a second why. I grew up during at time of “because I said so” was the only answer you would ever get. If you kept on with the why’s after the “because I said so” had already been given, the next step was the good ol’ back hand to the mouth. I can hear my dad clear as day greet my why with a long-exaggerated sigh, like here we go again. Being the youngest of seven children my parents were long past the answering of the why’s by the time I came along. Not only am I the seventh in line, I was for sure an ooops. There are exactly ten months and seventeen days between my brother and me. I can ask as many questions as I want, now Karen, … I turn into my father when she starts asking me questions. I have a spinal cord nerve stimulator that I am certain is strategically placed. I have permanent sciatica in my left leg. They start you off with a trial stimulator. It is almost like a fast food add. Everything looks so good in the add, however when you are starving and unwrap what you think is going to be a beautifully looking tasty burger, it looks like it was thrown in the middle of a busy interstate and ran over by every eighteen-wheeler that traveled that road. The trial stimulator worked well, when the permanent one was placed, it was such a letdown. Of course, when I need to ask questions, I obviously do not. Depending on the position I was in or how my head was positioned greatly affected the effectiveness of the stimulator. My entire life is filled with bad choices. Shortly after we were married, I purchased Karen a 1978 F-150. Bad choice of this escapade number 1. If your body is messed up bad enough that you have a stimulator so that you can walk, why on God’s green earth would you buy a truck that is more than forty years old? Any normal person would think hmmm this thing is probably going to be broke down more than it runs. Well, I have been called a lot of things in my life, normal has never been one of the names. I cannot remember exactly what had broken on it this time, it was something underneath it. Bad choice number 2, I got down on the ground to look underneath of this apparent bucket of bolts. Now, this had a few bad choices involved in it. I still had the dressings from the placement of this stimulator on my back. Now they did not tell me not to be rolling around on the ground, hindsight, they probably also did not think they would have to tell a grown adult to not be rolling around on the ground when you literally just had a foreign object implanted into your body. Getting on the ground under the truck was not an easy task. I am trying to contort my body because nothing is working right, chance number 1 to abort the mission. Karen is nagging at me telling me I really should not be doing what I am doing, chance number 2 to abort the mission. I am on the ground but cannot see whatever it was I was looking for, chance number 3 to abort the mission. Nope, I wiggled my chubby self underneath the truck. I am already in a bad way; however, I am persistent to a fault, I refuse to let anything hinder my ignorant self. I also do not possess the ability to think things through for myself. I am quick at pointing out how someone else is making a bad choice. Moving on, I try to get to a more comfortable position, yes Karen is still telling me how much I lack intelligence. Holy moly, that stimulator took to working and I literally felt like I was riding a lightening bolt. My body automatically froze in that position, so I am in a steady state of riding the lightening bolt. Karen is oblivious as to what is going on. I wanted to scream, however I could not because my dang contraption felt as if it was electrocuting me. I couldn’t even murmur a word, it was shocking me so badly, it took the air right out of my lungs. I don’t remember how old my niece was at the time, she was a teenager. She lived with us and was always outside, I thought it was because she wanted to help me all the time, now that I think about it, she was out there for the never-ending laughs from my uncanny ability to make bad choices. I am at least double the size of my niece (I hope you are getting a visual of this). I manage to muster up enough air to say help. I am certain they were slightly concerned that I asked for help, at least that is what I am going to tell myself. They were so concerned that they did not actually help me right away. I manage to tell them I am getting electrocuted. My niece has an unusual laugh when she really gets tickled. It is kind of like a donkey hee hawing. She grabs a hold of my boots and tries to drag me out. Not the greatest solution. This is when I learned that the straighter my spine it, the better the stimulator works. It is zinging me even worse. I am getting zinged to the sound of hee haw cackling. My niece gets me drug out from under the bucket of bolts. For the record, I found none of this situation funny. As a matter of fact, I am angry, of course I need to be angry with myself. I get into a position that it stops electrocuting me and catch my breath. I really want to get up and storm into the house, the problem with that is because my incisions are new enough that they still have the dressings on them, I cannot make my body do anything. Karen is reminding me how she told me it was not a good idea, like I needed the reminder. I just rode the lightening for what felt like an hour and been drug across the rocks on my back that had just been cut open and now I cannot get up. Her reminder was such a morale booster, and it decreased my anger, (sarcasm). My niece gets me off the ground. My legs feel like an overcooked spaghetti noodle looks. I attempted to storm into the house, it was more like a snail trying to tip toe.

I have realized that I ask a lot of questions. Generally, they are the most random questions too. I would have greatly disliked being around the five-year old version of me, why? But why? I highly doubt that I ever got past a second why. I grew up during at time of “because I said so” was the only answer you would ever get. If you kept on with the why’s after the “because I said so” had already been given, the next step was the good ol’ back hand to the mouth. I can hear my dad clear as day greet my why with a long-exaggerated sigh, like here we go again. Being the youngest of seven children my parents were long past the answering of the why’s by the time I came along. Not only am I the seventh in line, I was for sure an ooops. There are exactly ten months and seventeen days between my brother and me. I can ask as many questions as I want, now Karen, … I turn into my father when she starts asking me questions. I have a spinal cord nerve stimulator that I am certain is strategically placed. I have permanent sciatica in my left leg. They start you off with a trial stimulator. It is almost like a fast food add. Everything looks so good in the add, however when you are starving and unwrap what you think is going to be a beautifully looking tasty burger, it looks like it was thrown in the middle of a busy interstate and ran over by every eighteen-wheeler that traveled that road. The trial stimulator worked well, when the permanent one was placed, it was such a letdown. Of course, when I need to ask questions, I obviously do not. Depending on the position I was in or how my head was positioned greatly affected the effectiveness of the stimulator. My entire life is filled with bad choices. Shortly after we were married, I purchased Karen a 1978 F-150. Bad choice of this escapade number 1. If your body is messed up bad enough that you have a stimulator so that you can walk, why on God’s green earth would you buy a truck that is more than forty years old? Any normal person would think hmmm this thing is probably going to be broke down more than it runs. Well, I have been called a lot of things in my life, normal has never been one of the names. I cannot remember exactly what had broken on it this time, it was something underneath it. Bad choice number 2, I got down on the ground to look underneath of this apparent bucket of bolts. Now, this had a few bad choices involved in it. I still had the dressings from the placement of this stimulator on my back. Now they did not tell me not to be rolling around on the ground, hindsight, they probably also did not think they would have to tell a grown adult to not be rolling around on the ground when you literally just had a foreign object implanted into your body. Getting on the ground under the truck was not an easy task. I am trying to contort my body because nothing is working right, chance number 1 to abort the mission. Karen is nagging at me telling me I really should not be doing what I am doing, chance number 2 to abort the mission. I am on the ground but cannot see whatever it was I was looking for, chance number 3 to abort the mission. Nope, I wiggled my chubby self underneath the truck. I am already in a bad way; however, I am persistent to a fault, I refuse to let anything hinder my ignorant self. I also do not possess the ability to think things through for myself. I am quick at pointing out how someone else is making a bad choice. Moving on, I try to get to a more comfortable position, yes Karen is still telling me how much I lack intelligence. Holy moly, that stimulator took to working and I literally felt like I was riding a lightening bolt. My body automatically froze in that position, so I am in a steady state of riding the lightening bolt. Karen is oblivious as to what is going on. I wanted to scream, however I could not because my dang contraption felt as if it was electrocuting me. I couldn’t even murmur a word, it was shocking me so badly, it took the air right out of my lungs. I don’t remember how old my niece was at the time, she was a teenager. She lived with us and was always outside, I thought it was because she wanted to help me all the time, now that I think about it, she was out there for the never-ending laughs from my uncanny ability to make bad choices. I am at least double the size of my niece (I hope you are getting a visual of this). I manage to muster up enough air to say help. I am certain they were slightly concerned that I asked for help, at least that is what I am going to tell myself. They were so concerned that they did not actually help me right away. I manage to tell them I am getting electrocuted. My niece has an unusual laugh when she really gets tickled. It is kind of like a donkey hee hawing. She grabs a hold of my boots and tries to drag me out. Not the greatest solution. This is when I learned that the straighter my spine it, the better the stimulator works. It is zinging me even worse. I am getting zinged to the sound of hee haw cackling. My niece gets me drug out from under the bucket of bolts. For the record, I found none of this situation funny. As a matter of fact, I am angry, of course I need to be angry with myself. I get into a position that it stops electrocuting me and catch my breath. I really want to get up and storm into the house, the problem with that is because my incisions are new enough that they still have the dressings on them, I cannot make my body do anything. Karen is reminding me how she told me it was not a good idea, like I needed the reminder. I just rode the lightening for what felt like an hour and been drug across the rocks on my back that had just been cut open and now I cannot get up. Her reminder was such a morale booster, and it decreased my anger, (sarcasm). My niece gets me off the ground. My legs feel like an overcooked spaghetti noodle looks. I attempted to storm into the house, it was more like a snail trying to tip toe.

I often feel like most of my life is a huge mess. Whenever I try to accomplish something, it turns into a mess first. If you think about it, some of the most beautiful things are just on the other side of messes. For example, when it snows, the roads, sidewalks, you track it in your vehicle, house, it just makes a mess. However, at night, when the stars are shining brightly and the moon is full, how beautiful it is to look out of the window from the comfort of your house to see the beautiful glistening snow. Even when you deep clean something, it turns into a mess before it becomes beautiful. Things get strewn about and for me, get overwhelming. Then things slowly go back together, and you can see beauty in your hard work.