Life After the other Shoe Falls

Imagine this. You're in your late thirties. You fly aerobatic airplanes. You ride motorcycles. You sail competitively. You live in Hawaii. What could be better? What could happen?

Then one day you notice a little blurry vision in one eye. Nothing big, right? It'll probably go away. Then the next thing you know, you wake up in the hospital. You don't know how you got there or what happened. You try to ask the nurse why you're there and find you can't speak. And if that weren't bad enough, the right half of your body is paralyzed. This can't be real, you'd certainly think. I'll wake up soon from this awful dream. But it's not a bad dream. It's not a nightmare; it's real. Someone finally tells you: You've had a stroke...

Meet my new friend, Carl. About eight years ago, if I have the story right, that was his life and that's what happened to him. I've had some bad days and I've had some serious life setbacks, but holy crow. Can you imagine? Can you really imagine? I get frustrated when I can't think of a word I'm searching for or when I'm in a foreign country and can't make myself understood. But I can still speak. But what if you can't? And you don't know why? Oh man.

Carl had to learn how to speak all over again. He had to learn to use his limbs again (to the extent that he can). And he had to decide what kind of person he was going to be and what kind of life he was going to live. Fortunately for me, he taught himself to speak, taught himself to use a lot of his body, and now likes to spend a lot of time sailing with a little help from his friends. Last month I had the privilege of sailing with Carl in Kanehoe Bay, Hawaii.

Carl has the tanned, weathered skin of someone who's spent a lot of time on the sea. His face bears the lines that come with his mid-to-late forties' age and the road he's traveled. He has a quick, high-pitched laugh, a great attitude about life, and seemingly limitless patience for the ineptitude of novice sailors like me. Despite the fact that one arm is basically fixed in place as is one leg, he gets around pretty well. And despite the ineptitude of his crew, he could still communicate well enough that we could manage the ship under his command. We had a truly awesome time.

There we were, three active airline pilots and one former pilot, sailing on a breezy, sunny day in beautiful Hawaii. I couldn't stop thinking how incredibly lucky we all were to be there, doing what we were doing, at that moment in time. The boat was heeled over just so, with two guys out on the trapeze, knocking into one another, splashing us all like little kids, grinning from ear to ear. It was a moment to treasure. And every now and then, I'd glance back at Carl and see a man in his element, at peace with the sea and the world, with no limitations at all.

Thank you, Carl. You're a heck of a man.