January 2025/ Issue #7
The Long Road Ahead
By Jeffrey Pryor
I received a voicemail from my father, it was short, sweet, and to the point. "Your brother fell off a roof and he is in the hospital. He is going in for surgery soon." This was all the information that I had been given.
I started calling around the various hospitals in the area and thanks to our willing acceptance of the Interactive Voice Response system and Automated Attendants, I was getting nowhere. After three hours of listening to Yanni's greatest hits on repeat, while on hold for the next available representative, I eventually found the right hospital. I rushed downtown to find out more. I found a parking spot, quickly slipped into the hospital, and approached the information desk. I asked where I might find my brother, and was told he was in surgery. I asked what he was getting surgery for, and the look I received was a blank stare, "We cannot tell you." At least I was in the right place.
I found my way to the cafeteria and grabbed a cup of Joe. It was black as night and seemed fresh; I knew I would be needing it. I kicked back on a sofa and relaxed, reading some of the magazines nearby. The magazines were promoting medications, and medical procedures, and included a ton of really fine, fine print. One article in particular got my attention. It was about accessibility and the advancements in technology for those in wheelchairs. I wondered if my brother would be utilizing those advancements. I honestly had no idea what had happened to him. My mind went wild with the thoughts of his future.
It seemed like an eternity went by and a man came out to talk to me. He told me that both of my brothers' feet had been shattered in the accident and he would have to learn to walk again. It would be a long recovery and he would endure several more surgeries. He walked away. Walked away. Walking down the hall. I stood there feeling the pain my brother felt. I longed to take his place and relieve him of this burden. I collapsed in a dark corner and tried to understand how I could best help him. I was sitting there in my darkness when I heard this squeaking noise approach. I glanced up and there stood a nurse, with black scrubs and squeaky clean white shoes. She smiled at me and said, "Are you the brother?" I nodded and smiled back, although I was fighting back tears.
She said, "Good. Here are some things we need to discuss about his needs." She started with a list of things that I had never heard of. She started with compression socks, a bedpan, a wheelchair, a wheelchair ramp, rails to help him in and out of the shower and bathroom, transportation to and from appointments, and someone to help him eat, sleep, cook, clean, bathe, and pretty much everything else. I just nodded. I kept listening, committing it to memory, and planning how this would be accomplished.
The nurse told me where to find my brother before she left. I went to his room and he was not there. I sat down in the chair next to the bed and for some reason, I just fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt about the two of us climbing trees and running around like wild animals. I could see him racing me down the hill for supper, he was always faster and more agile. I ran like a water buffalo or similar. I was enjoying the dream, when I heard, "Hey, thanks for being here." I woke up to see my brother looking back at me. Both of his feet were in casts up to his knees. I could tell he was in a world of pain, but he had that twinkle in his eyes. All I could say or more like mutter, was, "I love you."
We talked about the accident and how his life would be changing. I told him that I wanted to install a ramp at his place, for his wheelchair. He smiled and thought it would be great. I never knew just how strong he was, but I will never forget the strength that he showed me. Throughout his recovery, I saw the lack of accessibility for people confined to a wheelchair. Seeing my younger brother eventually leave that wheelchair and move on to a cane made me so proud. I had to bury the thought that we would never run together again. We would never climb another tree together. I would always win the race against him from now on. Love knows no bounds and can heal the deepest wounds.
I hope Mobility Mountain can provide healing for those who are wounded. Let nature convey its soothing message of peace and wellness through outdoor experiences. If we pay attention, we might hear the squeaking shoes guiding us toward healing.
The Inception of Mobility Moutain (part 7)
By Jeffrey Pryor
The morning came quickly and I was off and running. I popped on my two-piece suit, belt, and shoes, all fresh from Goodwill. I spent no more than $30 on the entire ensemble. I had been without a steady paycheck for a while and was scraping the barrel to make ends meet. The suit was a decent fit and I had three different shirts, so I could change it up a bit. The shoes were a fit, surprisingly, and they looked decent. I gathered my documents and headed to the classroom, where we would pitch our ideas to see who was the top dawg.
I found a secluded place near the room and started practicing my pitch. I kept reading it over and over, using 3X5 cards as prompts. Soon, I was joined by a couple of my veteran classmates. We started pitching to each other and giving solid feedback. I got up and walked toward the classroom when my shoes exploded. I looked down and my toes on the left foot were poking out and the heel of my right was slipping out of the shoe. So much for professionalism. The only thing I could do was hobble back to my room and swap out for my hiking boots, which still had mud on them. I had no time to think, just act.
I jumped into my boots and raced back to the presentation room where everyone was gathered. I set up my posterboard and straightened up my suit. I saw the judges walking around from one contestant to another, pitches going on like auctioneers. I felt nervous and questioned what I was doing. I looked at everyone in the room. They had tailored suits and clean crisp haircuts, they all had such wonderful ideas and goals. I stood there, feeling hollow and then I looked down. I saw my boots, with worn-out and worn-through soles. The scuffs and deep gouges in the leather came from hard work. Nothing comes easy in this life and my journey so far has been pretty rough. I expect no less in the future and more than likely would not want it any other way. I looked at my boots for a second more, then took a breath, let it sit for a second, and released it as I raised my head. There, standing in front of me, was the panel of judges. Three of them to be exact. One of the judges was looking at my boots. He looked at my posterboard for a second, smiled a big smile, and said, “Are you ready?”
Happy New Year!
Wow, 2025! This is crazy seeing the numbers climb. I remember living in the 1970s, 80s, 90s, and 2000s, not thinking about how quickly it slipped by. It seems like it was just yesterday, or at least not too far off. Time flies when you're having fun right?
This year is going to be amazing and a lot of changes are coming down the pike. I received a late Christmas gift from the Internal Revenue Service. We are now officially a 501(c)(3) organization. After 9 months and a little bit of back and forth, we can move forward and start accepting donations, applying for grants and funding, mingling with foundations, and being on the radar as a charity. I am excited about this opportunity and wanted to share it with all of you.
Most people think that when you become a 501(c)(3) the money tree starts dropping cash down on you instantly. It does not work like that, unfortunately. I do know that we will now be eligible for discounts on services (like this overbearingly expensive platform) and goods. It also gives us a different status when we reach out to philanthropic arenas. I guess you could say that we will be taken a bit more seriously now. Or at least I hope so. Happy New Year to you and yours, and stay tuned for the fun, because we are just getting started.
Comments