I met a strong man, recently. Eric. He is 31. If you saw him walk near you, assisted by his loving mother, that may be the last impression that would come to mind. Eric uses the sort of cane with three little “legs” at the end to help stabilize him as he walks very slowly from one place to another. He takes every step deliberately, cautiously. Talk with him a little and you will learn that he is one strong, tough fellow who lets nothing beat him.
I met him one afternoon while sitting in a rocking chair outside a clothing store where my wife, Candace, was shopping. With his mother’s help, Eric made his way to the rocking chair just to my left and sat in it. Everything about it was a challenge for him.
When he was settled, he looked at me and said, “I was in a motorcycle accident. I had brain trauma.” Eric, a handsome and tanned fellow with long dark hair in a bun, obviously felt self-conscious about his condition. He wanted me to know what happened, how he came to be in this shape.
“Did the accident happen a long time ago?,” I responded.
“A year ago,” Eric replied. His mother gently reminded him that it was three years ago.
While his mother shopped in the store, Eric and I talked about his life in recent years. He explained that one day while on his motorcycle he collided with a car. “I totaled her car,” Eric said, explaining just how awful the accident was.
“My life changed in a minute,” he continued.
Afterward, he told me, he spent more than a year in hospitals. I had already learned that time might be something that he does not always get just right, but I knew he had been horribly injured and certainly had required extensive hospitalization.
In time, he came to realize that his longtime girlfriend had moved on. She is married with a child, now. Eric said he hoped that she would choose to stay by his side. “It’s over now,” he told me with a gentle shrug of his shoulders.
“Do you have therapists to help you with your recovery,” I asked. He responded that he had finished a water therapy session that very afternoon. Other therapists help, too, including an occupational therapist.
Eric told me that he believes he will continue progressing because he works hard at all of his therapies. His dream is to manage his father’s motorcycle repair business one day. Each time that he spoke the word believe, he would place the palm of his right hand to his chest.
“Keep believing, Eric,” I told him.
I told Eric that I have a four-year-old grandson on the autism spectrum who was adopted by my daughter and her husband. after fostering him for more than a year. I told him that my grandson has different kinds of therapists who are helping him develop, helping him grow in several ways.
“Eric, I believe. I believe good things are ahead for my little grandson,” I told him. “It’s important to believe.”
I added that my daughter and her husband see my grandson as a blessing in their lives. I explained we all feel that way.
Eric looked at me and said, “I respect your daughter. I respect your family.” And, he placed his hand to his heart, just as he had earlier. Then, he reached out his hand to shake. At that point, I knew that I had tears in my eyes.
When Candace came outside of the store, I introduced them. Eric told us that he was glad that he met us.
All I could think was how blessed I was to meet Eric, such a brave and strong and kind man. I told Eric that I was grateful that we met, too.
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