Anything but "Good?" (or What Might You Wake up to?)

I don't know why, but I am going to share an item I wrote late last Saturday night for our BFG [Bible Fellowship Group], and an unusual situation I found out about later.


Anything but Good?
[or, What Might You Wake Up to Today?]


What is it like to become aware-- to 'wake up'-- in an unfamiliar setting, having no idea how you got there and not wanting to believe anything that you're told about the circumstances? I must consider it an 'educated guess' that most people never face that in this world. When you wake up, you know where you are and for what reason you're there, regardless of the circumstances.

Some of us, I'm sure, are ready to be in another world, as this current one does not afford us a lot of positives. Perhaps we imagine it in such a way-- that we're going to 'wake up' in heaven, greeted by Jesus, and maybe by those who played a significant role in making us a Christian. And whatever happened-- a fatal heart attack or stroke, an accident, a triumphant end to a long ordeal with cancer...whatever-- is not in our memory. It may be nice to think of it as happening that way. But none of KNOW any such thing. To KNOW what really happens at that time, there is one way-- to experience it. And since, by scripture, it is not allowable-- arguably not even possible-- to communicate with those who have passed on, we are not in position to learn this or to know this for certain. However, this also is not really the subject here, although we can't deny it has some relation.

No, the specific reference here is to gradually becoming aware that I (14 years of age) was in a hospital-- my oldest brother (12) occupying the other bed in the semi-private room-- and being told I had a broken leg. Not only did I not remember breaking a leg, but my right leg did not look or feel broken. It was not in a cast-- which I always associated with a broken bone; something I had never experienced before-- but it was between 2 long sandbags, and I could not move it. As my awareness continued to progress, I was told we had a motorcycle wreck-- I on my new Suzuki 90, and my oldest brother, Steve, on my old Honda Trail 70, which went to him. It took place in the field behind our house, where a number of kids rode their motor bikes. My youngest brother, Bill (9), and another neighborhood kid were also involved; though I never was told who was riding with whom. Tony (11) , the kid who lived on our block, was possibly the reason that it was not more serious for Steve and me-- possibly even death for me. He and Bill were hurt, but not badly-- they almost surely were not the "drivers" of our bikes, but rode on the backs. So Bill went home to tell our mom, who worked later hours and was home then; but by the time he got to the house, he already was unable to recall what had happened. But Tony, with a bad ankle, soon got there and told her what happened.

The rest is a bit less definite as to who, what and when. My mom called my dad at work, who said he would "be right there." My sister, Patti (almost 16), and maybe my mom, went out to the field and saw our bones sticking out with all that blood before they came back and called for an ambulance. My sister said she was unable to dial the phone to do so. But Tony had called his mother, who came to our house, so she then had to call for the ambulance. My dad (a Purple Heart who had seen and experienced more than his share of injuries) said when he got out there the ambulance crew said they would try to 'sit me up,' but he cursed them and said the way I was bleeding from the mouth, I must have a punctured lung, so do NOT try to sit me up. I, of course, cannot confirm anything, as the memory was erased. I hope it doesn't burst anyone's bubble, but this is real amnesia-- not what Hollywood likes to portray, wherein the subject cannot remember who he or she is, but somehow remembers how to speak, accent and all. The last thing I remember before it happened is a vague memory of watching Steve, Bill, and Tony all trying to start that old Honda by pushing it and forcing it into gear. I wish I knew why they weren't prevented from getting it started that day.

Anyway, Bill and Tony just spent one day in the hospital. Steve, with a broken arm and a face swollen the "size of a watermelon" (said Patti), was there for several days. But I, with a broken right tibia, a dislocated right hip (which is the lingering injury and has resulted in multiple surgeries), 4 broken ribs, and a punctured lung, was there for 5 weeks. I was told I developed pneumonia and almost died from that. While I could write a book about everything that happened in those weeks and later-- including how I never went to school during my freshman year of high school, but took 4 subjects with a "home bound" teacher who nearly every week said I "amaze" her in comparison to her other charges-- what it all comes down to is a life-changing event at the age of 14 which took many things away from me, but it steered me in the direction of focusing on God. It was a long time in realization, but that's what I 'woke up to,' without knowing how or why a MAJOR event had happened which seemed anything but good.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose [Romans 8:28].


Now, tonight's post:
How strange can things get? I wrote that post late Saturday night and early Sunday morning, and I found out just tonight that the one I mentioned who had to call the ambulance for us-- Tony's mother-- had passed away that day, Saturday, July 12, at the age of 88. Now I am considering going to her funeral mass, but it would be the first time I have gone to a Catholic funeral. And if I see Tony, I don't know if he would even remember me, as I know he has been on drugs and has served some prison time for shooting it out with the police once. Actually, before we lost contact, I had begun to warn Tony about drugs and other things he talked about wanting to try. So if I do go (supposing I can), I don't know what might happen.