Today’s post, in which I repeat myself and offer my heartfelt thanks

I don’t often repost something I’ve written before. 

In fact, I recall doing it just once before, when I repeated the Father’s Day post thanking the man who instilled my lifelong love of bike riding. 

But I’m going to make an exception today.

Because it was exactly one year ago that my wife nearly died from a heart attack that seemed to come out of the blue — although in retrospect, there were warning signs. As there usually are, if you know what to look for.

What you’ll see below is probably the most heartfelt piece I ever have ever written. Or ever will.

And the message is still worth considering.

Because you never know where life will take you.

Or your loved ones.

……..

Before you ride, before you work, before it’s too late

I almost lost my wife today.

Not the way I often do at the mall, where her petite five-foot frame too easily disappears behind department store racks.

And not the way I sometimes fear, when I foolishly question whether love is stronger than the anger that never fails to fade following a fight.

This time the heart I fell in love with gave out without a warning.

Or rather, without one we heeded.

Like the odd pain she complained about last night, that felt like someone punching her between the shoulder blades.

Or this morning, when she was too tired to help make the bed. Something we put off to a long standing iron deficiency still awaiting approval for another round of treatment.

But off to work she went, just like any other day.

Then a little after noon, she told her boss she wasn’t feeling well. Moments later, she was passed out at her desk.

Fortunately, the people she works with found her right away, and knew exactly what to do. And within minutes, paramedics from the Beverly Hills Fire Department had her on a gurney and on her way the ER, red lights and siren blaring.

She was already in surgery before I was halfway to the hospital.

That was followed by a tense couple hours in the waiting room, surrounded by strangers with worried faces just like mine, waiting for word on loved ones of their own.

A steady parade of physicians walked through the door, calling names that weren’t mine. And breaking news that brought smiles to faces that weren’t mine, either.

Finally I heard my name, and looked up as a doctor in surgical scrubs beckoned me down a hall leading to the cardiac ICU.

His words didn’t make me smile. That heart I loved was badly broken.

But unlike Humpty Dumpty, they were able to put it back together again. And the prognosis, thankfully, is good.

Only time will tell how much damage was done. If any.

Her life will be different. She’ll be on medication for the foreseeable future, and under the care of a cardiologist for life.

But at least she’ll have one. And I’ll still have her.

It could have been different.

If her coworkers had been at lunch. If the hospital had been farther away. If it had happened tonight, when I would have been away at a meeting, and she would have been home alone, with only the dog to call 911.

And the dog can’t reach the phone. Even if she did know how.

As cyclists, we accept a certain degree of risk. We understand that bad things can happen when we ride, but probably won’t.

And we get angry when it does, usually to someone else. Maybe because we’ve all had enough close calls to know it could be us, some other place, some other time.

People are fragile.

And bad things can happen to anyone. Anytime. Anywhere.

And sometimes, there’s no second chance to say the things you wish you’d said.

So say them. Please.

Now.

Take a moment to tell the people you love that you do. Before you ride. Before you go to work. Before it’s too late.

Because one day, hopefully not soon, it will be.

Tonight I’m going to sleep in an empty bed, with just the dog to keep me warm. And my heart will be miles away, badly broken. But getting better.

And thankfully, that bed won’t be empty long.

……..

A year later, the news is good.

Whatever damage there was to her heart has healed almost completely. And she is back to where she was before a blood clot nearly took her life. 

But they never figured out why it happened, as she had none of the common factors that normally lead to clotting or cardiac arrest. Which means that it could happen again at any time, for whatever reason.

Or it could have been a one time thing that will never repeat.

I’m hoping for the latter.

But let it be a reminder to you, as it is to me, every day, that life is short. And the people in your life precious and irreplaceable.

And far more important than all the things and worries and events that too often distract us.

So take a moment to remember who you love, and why. Then let them know.

It may be the most important thing you do today.

And you may not get another chance.

……..

One more thought.

I love what I do. This blog is my passion, and one day soon, it will, hopefully, be my job.

Even when the writing is hard, and the subject painful, there is nothing I would rather do. But writing is meaningless without readers.

So whether this is your first time here, or you’ve been with me since the beginning, please accept my sincere thanks, from as deep within my soul as I’m capable of.

Because without you, nothing I do here matters at all.

Thank you.

4 comments

  1. Craig says:

    Heartfelt and sage advice. Glad to hear you wife is doing much better.

  2. JD says:

    Thanks for all you do, and may healing continue to bless you and your wife.

  3. Lindee S. Brown Larsen says:

    Aw…what a beautiful post…I love it. I’m making a copy to send to a friend or two.

    We get so much come across our desk tops that it’s all I can do to scan through your blog but this one made me stop and read the whole thing.

    We are on this planet for such a short time and if life isn’t fun and enjoyable, we’re doing something wrong. Not that things should always be peaches and cream but for the most part…if we remember who we are and be purposeful about our lives, being of service where ever we can…we’re heading in the right direction, even when we pass.

    Many Blessings to you–keep on truckin’
    Love & Light
    lindee

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