People Die on Christmas Too

Last night in Chicago a Boeing 737 slid off the runway at Midway Airport. No one on the plane was severely injured, but the plane came to rest in the middle of a busy suburban intersection. The plane collided with vehicles.

One vehicle contained six year old, Joshua Woods, of Leroy, Indiana and his family. His two younger brothers and his parents are all hospitalized with injuries.

I don't know their situation, but in my imagination it goes something like this...

... they'd been in the car all evening. The boys were getting noisy and the parents were getting agitated. They'd decided to drive to Chicago to spend the weekend Christmas shopping, but now were regretted that decision. Mom had begged for the trip. She relented when the forecast called for snow, but Dad said "I'm not afraid of driving in a little snow."

The younger boys were in carseats, but Joshua just had a lap belt, which he frequently escaped. He was sitting on the floor between the seats when they stopped at the light at 55th and Central.

Mom had gone from asking to coaxing to yelling, trying to get Joshua to sit in his seat. Finally, Dad grabs Joshua by the shirt and lifts him onto the back seat and gives that threatening Dad look. "Don't Move a Muscle!"

Both look forward just long enough to see an unbelievable site, a 737 skidding into the intersection. It crushes their SUV like an aluminum can.

Regardless of the real situation, the freak nature of it, they will both blame themselves for little things.

The younger boys will forget their brother in time, but Christmas will never have the same flavor as it does for other children. The parents will have a sad memory guaranteed to be rekindled at the same time every year.

I read the story last night around midnight, just hours after it happened. That kicked off my dreams. I have frequent nightmares of losing one of my children. I can't imagine losing a child, but losing one near Christmas would be even worse.

Integrity Found, Honor Lost

What happens when Mr. Right goes to Iraq?

My Sister-in-Law, Lori, has always held out for Mr. Right. She thought she might have discovered him in a Pennsylvania State Police Officer named Danny. They dated a handful of times. Things were progressing slowly, but that seemed a perfectly comfortable pace for both of them.

He was one of those guys we wish we had more of on our police forces. His integrity and sense of duty attracted him to a law enforcement career, but the feeling of power some feel in uniform while carrying a sidearm hadn't corrupted those values. He was the "Marrying Kind" according to Lori.

Their relationship continued to grow slowly. It was long distance and he worked many weekends. When he wasn't working, he spent one weekend each month serving in the Pennsylvania Army National Guard. Lori and Danny talked on the phone and exchanged emails, but only saw each other every other month or so.

One day Danny called to let Lori know that his unit was being sent to Iraq for a tour of duty. She decided to share with him the feelings she had, and see if he had started thinking long term. He told her that, while she was the kind of woman he'd been searching for, he couldn't make commitments before leaving.

She talked to me, upset. "Why wouldn't he want to make commitments to her now? Wouldn't he feel better knowing he had a girl who cared deeply for him waiting at home?" Lori had a romantic idea of supporting her man while he was off to war.

I told her that my respect grew for him. The integrity that it takes to walk away, and hope she will still be around, is much higher than the guy who wants to elope the day before he ships out. He wanted what was best for Lori, not what was best for him. In Danny's normal way, he put others' needs ahead of his own.

I told her that, if it was destined, that he'd return and she would still be available. Furthermore, she'd respect and love him even more because of this sacrifice.

They started writing, real letters on real paper, a rarity today.

Several months passed. Lori was offered a blind date, which she accepted. Within a couple dates with Kevin, she had fallen in love. In August, Kevin proposed and she accepted.

She wrote to Danny almost immediately. She told him she had fallen in love, and of her happiness. She was nervous about his reaction.

A few weeks ago she received a letter. Danny was happy for her. She sensed he was genuinely happy, not putting on a face. She was relieved, and hoped that someday perhaps Kevin and Danny could meet.

Lori is getting married on Saturday, November 5th, 2005.

On October 27th, 2005, Staff Sergeant Daniel R. Lightner Jr. was killed when a home made bomb exploded along the roadside in Ramadi, Iraq. The explosion killed Danny, and injured two other soldiers from his unit.

Danny had distinct purpose in Lori's life. And hopefully, she had purpose in his. I'm further convinced by this story in a bigger plan that incorporates what may seem like senseless tragedy.

Terri Schiavo Has Died

I've received several emails, and many questions from friends, about my feelings surrounding Terri Schiavo. I think people perceive that someone with a life threatening disability, who still has a positive attitude, should spew pearls of wisdom.

Honestly, I am very mixed up about this case. I guess if it was an easy decision, there wouldn't be much talk about it in the news.

Here's just a couple thoughts running through my head, which I'm certain have run through most of your brains as well. Nothing earth shatteringly exciting or insightful, just thoughts.

First, I feel bad for the husband and her parents. Their views are polar opposites, however my impression is that they are all good people who truly loved Terri. In the political debate, both groups of people had been portrayed as monsters, but there are no monsters here.

If Michael Schiavo was a monster, he'd have jumped ship immediately after her brain damage. Perhaps he would have waited until he became involved with his current girlfriend to divorce Terri. He's been offered money, substantial money, to walk away. A monster would have cashed the check.

Terri Schaivo's parents, the Schindlers, aren't monsters either. They love their daughter regardless of her condition. Many parents have stopped loving their children for less, while other parents have continued to love their children through worse situations. They are fighting and hoping, and ultimately fighting to maintain hope. Their biggest shortcomings simply lies in hoping too much for a daughter's return.

Starving to death is a slow and painful demise. My stomach turns to think about it too hard. Try taking a large drink of cool water, then not eating or drinking anything for 24 hours. You would feel miserable in less than a day. I can't even imagine the pain of 14 days. Had she been respirator dependent, death would have been quick coming, and occurred about five years ago, when her first feeding tube was removed.

I read an opinion poll. I wish I could remember the source, but it said 56% of people, when asked, said Terri Schiavo's feeding tube should be re-inserted. However, the same group was asked, if they were in her position, would they want to continue living. 82% said they'd rather not continue living. Lycos has noted huge increases in searches for "living wills", clearly indicating that people have interest in making certain their wishes will be carried out without debate.

Finally, the bottom line...

If it were me, I'd want Kristen to make the hard decisions on my behalf. I trust my wife far more than I trust the Florida Supreme Court, the Georgia Circuit Court, congressional committees, or Jeb, George W., or Laura Bush who all have voiced opinions and had influence.

Ultimately, in retrospect, I support Michael Schiavo, not because I support euthanasia or the right to die, but I support him because he's her husband. I support that he was the person she chose to make tough decisions. He made the toughest decision, and survived the flames of dissenting opinion.

This is usually the spot in my articles where I invite opinions. I encourage people to disagree. I enjoy spirited debate. Not this time. Please keep your opinions to yourself. It's painful to think about, and way too personal. If you must, simply send me an email saying "well written" and nothing more.

The Dreams Return

My sleep had improved for several months. Thankfully, December was a great month. When I needed strength and health the most, my sleep apnea seemed to subside, and I had very few dreams.

The dreams I did have weren't extremely vivid. They were just typical dreams, and usually, the only reason I remembered them is because I was awakened. The alarm would go off, or one of my kids would wake up, and I'd remember dreams or dream fragments.

Since 2005 started, my dreams have returned. I'm more stressed than normal, and, oh yeah, I'm still disabled. I've been sleeping lighter, my sleep apnea has intensified, and the dreams have returned.

Last night I dreamed that I was stranded at the mall with several other guys in wheelchairs. When I was in college, that was always a minor fear, because the city bus only had two wheelchair accessible seats. If three or four wheelchair users were at the mall at the same time, and they all shopped until the last bus pickup, we had problems. It became ridiculous on more than one occasion. We'd be at the mall, see another wheelchair user and need to ask "Which bus are you taking back to campus?" There never really was issues, everyone seemed to treat each other fairly, because we were all afraid of getting stranded 15 miles from home. The sad part is that the mall was open until 9:00, but the last bus was at 6:15 p.m. If there were three of us, somebody had to leave at 5:15 or risk drawing the short straw at 6:15.

Anyhow, that little sidebar is irrelevant to my dream. Let's just say it was a stressful setting for the dream. Here's where it really became disturbing, nearly a nightmare.

There were four guys, and two of us would be stuck. I was trying to call someone to pick me up using my van. In my dream, my wife dropped me off, and took the van home. I knew she was going out of town, so she couldn't pick me up. As I'm calling, the other guys are volunteering to let me take the bus. I knew this wasn't logical, because I hadn't taken the bus to the mall, and I did own another vehicle. They were simply being nice because I was the most disabled.

I used to do this in college. I remember one Halloween Party, we got eight inches of snow. A couple guys with wheelchair accessible vans brought my friend, Sean, this kid I only knew as T., and me to a party. One of the guys hooked up with a drunk girl who got turned on by the idea of having sex in his wheelchair (yes, this actually happens) and he split with her. We all understood, but that left T. without a ride. T. had Muscular Dystrophy and I knew he'd probably never make it home safely. So did Sean, so we both volunteered our ride. T. knew he was the worst gimp of the gimps. Then it came down to Sean and me. Neither of us wanted to admit we were more disabled. Then Sean said his chair was low on power. I don't know if that was true, or if he was just scared. He lent me his stocking cap and I drove home in the snow, about 5 miles. It took me two hours, and Sean was waiting in the dorm lobby with coffee. Sean felt like a jerk, and extra gimpy that night.

The guys at my college always took care of the most disabled guys. You took care of others, because you didn't want to be the one being cared for. Whoever needed the most help from the community usually died. In four years, 11 guys died, 11 wheelchair users, 11 of the most disabled. I graduated without becoming one of the worst gimps.

Back to the nightmare... I was desperately trying to find a ride for myself, without much luck. My cell phone had become broken after I dropped it trying to dial. I could only remember a couple numbers, and none of them were answering. If I could get a ride, I wouldn't have to face the obvious, that now I'm the most disabled. These guys would give up the bus ride, and I'd have to accept, because I'd never make it home another way. I'd be the most disabled, and that was equivalent to a death sentence.

I woke up feeling like my life depended on a broken cell phone.