According to Merriam-Webster: “Definition of take stock: to carefully think about something in order to make a decision about what to do next. We need to take stock and formulate a plan.” A very close friend, Angie, was in a serious car accident this week. One minute she was on her hour-long commute to work and the next she was pinned in her car waiting to be cut out. Fast forward 48 hours and she’s had surgery on her knee cap and is thankful she didn’t lose her leg. Or her life. This has caused me to pause and take stock.
This all happened on a Monday morning. 99% of the world continued with business as usual. My life, for the most part, continued as usual. I started to extrapolate forward on behalf of my friend. Where was her master bedroom, first floor or second floor? Can you drive a car without the use of a right leg? Will she ever want to return to her job and her hour-long commute? How will this affect her in the long term? What would I do if I was in her shoes? There are no correct answers. There are only a lot of questions.
This is what I have taken stock of:
I have an iWatch that tracks my steps. Ever since I completed my short section hike on the Appalachian Trail (15 miles), I haven’t been walking that much. I recently found out I have a torn meniscus in my left knee and I have been apprehensive about injuring it more. But in the last week? Post-accident? I have tripled my steps. It prompted me to look at what I can do. I have two working legs and who knows if and when that might be taken away from me. I have a strength workout that my boyfriend designed for me that involves lunges, air squats, planks, and pushups. Yep. I can do that as well. I almost feel like I am doing the workouts for Angie. I’ve taken stock in what I can do.
I have a small step between my sunroom and my kitchen. There are three steps up to my front door. I don’t think I could get a wheelchair into my bathroom. Closet doors open into a narrow hallway. There is no easy path from my driveway to my front door. I never noticed these things before. What if I was suddenly in a wheelchair and unable to go up small steps? What would I do in the interim until ramps could be built? I’m sure these are things that an ergonomics expert or physical therapist sees without a second thought. It’s been all I see since Monday. I’ve taken stock of close surroundings and in what’s available.
I am writing this on a Saturday, just five days after the accident. Angie has at least three surgeries in her future and who knows what else. I’m sure on Monday morning, as she prepared to head to work, she had no idea that her life would be so full of uncertainty only a few short hours later. I have a new appreciation that everything is uncertain for us all. You may think you are going to take that business trip or buy that car or scratch your dog when you get home. But we just don’t know. Nothing is guaranteed. Sure, most of it will happen and unfold as expected, but life is uncertain. I’ve taken stock in the uncertainty of it all.
The man who crossed the center line and hit Angie head-on is on the same hospital floor as Angie. His injuries are worse. It’s difficult for me to be sympathetic to his situation. I immediately decided that he was drunk, texting or exhibiting road rage as he plowed into my friend’s car. Not Angie. There were many of us who decided he was not worth our sympathy in the midst of Angie suffering. Not Angie. In an email she wrote, she asked for all us to pray for the other driver. This is the Angie I know. She has the spirituality and forgiveness to be worried about the other driver. It makes me take stock in who I need to forgive, as well as what I no longer need to hold onto.
Angie has always been a kind and generous person. It didn’t take an accident to make her that way. In the email where she asked for everyone to pray for the other driver, she said, “I love each and every one of you.” It’s such a powerful statement. How often do I tell the people I love that I do love them? There is connection in acknowledging love. I don’t say it enough to enough people in my life. It seems to cure all ills and set things right. Regardless of where Angie is in six months, she will have love. I’ve taken stock in love.
Angie’s husband sent me a picture of the car post-accident. She’s lucky to be alive. I have taken stock in the reality that we are all lucky to be alive. Make the most of it. What do you need to take stock in?