December 7, 1941. The mention of the date is sufficient. I was not yet born, but I have seen video and photographic footage. I have listened to stories and watched documentaries. My parents and grandparents shared their remembrances of the day. The day changed this country.
Yesterday was December 7, 2016, seventy-five years after that infamous day. The weather was sunny and seasonally cool. I drove my new old truck, a 2006 Nissan Frontier, to and from the homeplace. It was the first trip, since my old 1995 Nissan pickup truck died, and I almost died, when an uninsured chicklet failed to yield to my right of way on March 29, 2016. That date changed my life.
Yes, I have improved. I can walk well enough, and I can drive. I am not yet able to hike up a mountain. On December 5, I was medically released to return to work on the 19th. The plan is to work part-time for two weeks. Afterward, I will be back to working full-time.
Yay, rah. Ho-hum. Okay. I am still alive, and I have recovered well enough to drive and to return to work. Don’t get me wrong. I am glad that I am out and about, going toward a normal, active life. I can see a finish line up ahead. The end of this marathon is in sight.
What’s wrong? The prolonged and ongoing recovery has been and is a gritty process. It’s the reality of life. At least I am going forward. My stubborn, strong will is helping me. The deeper purpose in life, however, is still missing.
Yes, I will be a good husband, brother, uncle, and in-law. I will be a good neighbor. I will be a good coworker. Is there anything else?
Pause... Wait... Oh well, we will see. In my 8/26/2016 article, I asked God, “Could you not open a door of complete physical healing and another door of opportunity to serve you, as I once did before you took Mom home? I await your reply and/or action -- as I have been doing since 2000, I do now still.”
The long physical healing process, still ongoing, sees a finish line. What about the door of opportunity? We will see. Until then, I go back to being a state bureaucrat in eleven more days.
To those, if any, reading, I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas. Maybe I will take my long-suffering wife with me to hunt a Christmas tree on Saturday, if I am physically up to it.
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