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Health & Fitness

A Sentimental Journey

In which the author tells tales of true love…

     Rom-coms and chick flicks leave me cold and believe me; I have tried watching them many times.  I could not tell you how Sleepless in Seattle, Say Anything or  Love, Actually ended because I walked out of the theatre in boredom not caring at all what happened to those silly people.  Double Indemnity, The Dirty Dozen, and Platoon are some of my favorites so it is an uncharacteristic foray into Hallmark territory I am taking by relating the following stories in honor of St. Valentine.

     Many newspapers have a “personals” section that people use to help find lost dogs, petition St. Jude over hopeless causes, honor the Virgin Mary with novenas and declare undying love and/or sincere apologies. Many years ago I saw one that was strikingly plaintive.  Paraphrasing from memory it read: “Angela, every year for 44 years I have asked you to be my Valentine.  This year God has taken you from me to be by His side but I will, once again, ask you to be my Valentine. Always, your Pasquale.”

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     The passage of time has not improved my ability to relate that story without tearing up.

     Since 1996 it has been my privilege to be working with the special needs population either at home or in an institution.  It was at home that I met “Julia”, a young lady who had always required a wheelchair and had many life-threatening chronic conditions. This only inspired her more to enjoy life, which she did with her less challenged boyfriend “Frankie.” 

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     Upon meeting for the first time I was solemnly informed that theirs was a “mixed relationship” which I thought referred to their Jewish/Italian pairing.  They liked to fool people that that was the case when it in truth referred to the fact that one was a Yankee fan and the other a Met fan. Every baseball season their devoted (respective) parents would load up a van with all kinds of equipment, special food and even oxygen tanks for trips to both Yankee Stadium and CitiField. The families shared all major and some minor holidays in an effort to give “the kids” as much normalcy and fun as possible in what was sure to be abbreviated lives.

     Every time the date was over and Frankie got ready to be driven home by Mom and Dad, he would look at Julia and say “ I love you”, she would touch her heart and say ( even when she was on a vent and could hardly talk) “ Always.”

They got me every time with that routine.

     Lastly in my trilogy of tearjerkers there is “Courtney”, a 14 year old boy who resided in a group home. Tall and handsome, he was non-verbal and had major cognitive deficits.  He had no knowledge that he was in any way challenged and lived with boundless exuberance. TV! Basketball! Trampoline! Pool!  What’s not to love in this generous life?

     He had no concept of ownership or property.  That year the cool style was to wear a bandana under a baseball cap and he regularly took these items from other kids.  He seemed to believe he needed them to dance as well as he did.  Eventually they found their way back to their rightful owners and Courtney endured it all with his big, wide smile. Why not? There was pizza for dinner. Awesome!

     One day the staff brought him into the nurses’ office with a deep gash in his foot.  Apparently it had been cut on a broken tile in one of the older bathrooms. He was terrified to see all the blood and it was hard to keep him still to bandage the wound. The most heartbreaking thing was to see the joy draining out of his face. “Why is my life suddenly not wonderful?” he seemed to be thinking.

     He needed sutures and was taken to the ER which was very traumatizing for him and his caregivers.  When he came back he showed me his bandage, pointing at it and crying.  No one had ever heard him cry before and it made them cry, too.  At change of shift I reported the incident to the oncoming staff and when I got to the part where Courtney cried, everyone cried on hearing it. “What a bunch of wimps!” you might be thinking.   His injury had made us realize how much we all loved him.

     Whenever I feel overcome with cynicism or question if I even have a soul, I think of these stories and feel them melt my cold, cold heart.

Dedicated to loyal reader “ Village Jenny.”




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