What if something amazing happens today?
Every morning when I wake up, it always seems too early. I always opt for the snooze button at least once. Eventually when I do get out of bed, I will: shower, do my hair and makeup, get dressed, take out my dog Bruin, eat breakfast, drive 1.5 miles to the train station, hop on the light rail, occasionally strike up conversation with either a hot ringless guy or an affable crackhead, go to work, do my best, go home, work out, cook dinner, watch ridiculous 7th Heaven reruns with the roommate and the dog, and then get ready to go to sleep and do it all over again.
Mostly I enjoy this. But for those 20 minutes or so between my first alarm and when I finally get up, it all seems a little daunting. Enough that I have to give myself a little pep talk just before I get started. It usually consists of my desire to not get fired, or to not let Bruin down. Then I sigh and get on with it.
In Minnesota, Jack Jablonski gives himself a pep talk before he gets out of bed and starts his day too. When he does, at around 5:30 a.m. CST, he needs personal care attendants and adaptive medical equipment to get him fed, showered and ready for school. Friends take notes for him, and feed him lunch.
After school is over, he rehabs at the Courage Center, where he works towards just one thing. The deepest desire of his heart since the moment he was checked into the boards during a hockey game last winter –walking again. He pedals on a stationary bike, electrodes sending messages to his legs that his brain has been unable to communicate after his spinal cord was damaged during the hit. He stands on a treadmill while therapists move his legs, the closest he’s able to get to his ultimate goal.
When he’s done at the Courage Center, Jack tends to his homework and his responsibilities as a student assistant coach of the hockey team he used to play for. Then he eats dinner and settles back into bed. Sometimes before he closes his eyes, he thinks about what his able-bodied life used to be like, wishing he could have it back. Hoping to reclaim it someday, fearing he won’t. Before he gets up in the morning to face all that, he knows how much it’s going to exhaust him, how much effort it’s going to take.
Just before he gets started though, he says to himself every morning, “what if something amazing happens today?”
Anonymous
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