Wednesday in September

Walking in her shoes:

Close your eyes and visualize waking up from an amputation. You have lost both legs, your dominant writing hand, and two fingers from the other fist. You are confined to a wheelchair permanently. The swelling is preventing the possibility of using prosthetics.

What if this was brought about by addiction due to years of physical abuse? Upon meeting her those circumstances repeated in my head. Her name was Millie and these are her stories that inspired me.

September, Our introduction:

She was fascinating and I’d never encountered anyone like her.

I walked into the apartment to see her sitting in her wheelchair. An independent and confident woman who was waiting to interview me for the caregiver position. She was gazing out of the window. The evening’s storm was on display. The sound of the infinite raindrops resembled tiny fingertips tapping on the glass. I was nervous about introducing myself. My hands were fidgeting and my stomach felt as if I had been spinning for hours. Once she kindly invited me to sit beside her I became less nervous. I carefully observed each breath between her words while she was speaking. Her warm exhales were casting an overglaze onto her reflection in the window.

The sound of familiar television voices was heard coming from her room. Leaving the television on for the background noise she expressed made her feel less lonely. Her rubber wheels and the frigid vinyl floor grew to appreciate each other. Its chilling touch, her feet never knew. A photograph of her children and grandchildren adorned a nightstand next to a small bed that screamed

“You’ll be sleeping alone as long as you’re here.”

The apartment that she’d kept immaculate and clean was state-funded housing. To be more precise, her living space was a hospital room equipped with a kitchen. The amenities included an on-call doctor five days a week and counseling. A qualification for residency, terminal illness, or handicap. Everyone occupying a dwelling had been struggling with substance abuse, even some of the staff. This was given to them to have a safe place to live and die.

She ended up there after twelve years of using intravenous drugs, which had taken a toll on her. Endocarditis had infected the chambers and valves of her heart due to the abuse. Eventually, an abscess contaminated her blood with bacteria, which reached her heart. The only choice she had was to undergo open heart surgery. She spent eighteen months in the hospital recuperating and relearning how to walk.

Three weeks at home and a second infection loomed. Another open-heart surgery was necessary which came with a stern warning, “Stay away from the needle!” For two additional years, she disregarded the warning given by her doctor. Her harmful actions eventually resulted in the worst outcome imaginable.

Blood clots overwhelmed each of her four limbs. The sole option to preserve her life was to undergo surgical amputation due to endocarditis. She had no alternative but to grant her doctor permission to remove both legs below the knees, her right arm below the elbow, and two fingers from her left hand.

Surprisingly, this was not the primary reason she required assistance. She had undergone the amputation four years prior to my interview. In great detail, she proceeded to provide an explanation for her sudden need for a caregiver.

Her congestive heart failure had worsened, necessitating frequent monitoring throughout the day due to increased hospital visits. The diuretic pills she took to reduce leg swelling caused her to urinate every five minutes, occasionally resulting in difficulty accessing a bedpan or reaching the bathroom in time. She spoke firmly yet concisely. It was astonishing to me the tasks she had been handling independently for such a long time.

She was assessing me, and rightfully so. I was going to be there for her during her most vulnerable moments. Millie confessed to being a person who could be demanding and emotionally draining. I believe this was her method of allowing me an escape if it became overwhelming.

While she was in the middle of telling me about my daily tasks, my filter decided to take a coffee break, causing me to blurt out,

“I would have given up if I became disabled.” understandably upset by my ignorance she interrupted me,

“Now, see, I’m gonna stop you right there. OK?! First off, you don’t know what you’d do until you’re in the situation. Second, yeah, at first it was hard but I can’t rely on anybody but myself if I want shit done right. This doesn’t make things any different. Lastly, I don’t consider myself “disabled” cuz I’m not. What’s sitting around crying and feeling sorry for myself gonna do for me? It ain’t gonna get me showered or my dishes done. I’m only disabled if I allow myself to be.”

This woman desired loyalty rather than a caregiver. She was exhausted by individuals who made promises to assist or support her, only to abandon her later on. What she truly craved was the companionship of a friend.

The residents in her building took advantage of her, only approaching her when they wanted something from her. It had been quite some time since someone genuinely cared about her emotions or how her day was going. Due to her pride, she found it difficult to ask for help.

I have frequently pondered whether my choice of attire on that particular day had an impact on her decision. The green wool sweater I had bought a fortnight prior from a nearby thrift store was my cherished possession, so much so that I had even slept in it on multiple occasions. It was a knitted tunic that loosely draped over my left shoulder, although it did have a missing hanging string and a minor tear. The imperfections were hardly noticeable unless one scrutinized it. She admired it and expressed her desire to have it when I no longer wanted it. Naturally, I agreed.

I was hired and agreed to start the next day, unaware that this experience would forever alter my perspective on life.

October, Getting to know Millie:

As the days turned into weeks, I began to realize that being Millie's caregiver was not just a job, but a privilege. She had become my mentor, teaching me to cherish every moment and embrace life's twists and turns. In one month, through her eyes, I learned that moments of vulnerability could be transformed into moments of strength and joy.

November, Plates, and dishes:

On an early November Tuesday evening, two days before Thanksgiving, I was doing dishes. I had been working for her for two months. Writing in her journal she’d become engrossed in her thoughts. However, my inability to wash the dishes disrupted her focus, causing her frustration. Irritated, she pushed me aside with her wheelchair so she could redo the task, emphasizing my mistake by scrubbing each dish. Strangely, her words had inexplicably hurt my feelings at that moment.

“Look this is how you do it. Remind me never to eat off your plates or cups if I ever go to your house. If this is how you wash dishes then I’m good, I’ll just bring my own.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll do them like that from now on.” I replied trying to hold in my tears.

When our eyes met, they indicated that she was remorseful for speaking to me in such a harsh way.

Whenever she was writing, my curiosity got the better of me to know what it was that she was so passionate about. She was consumed by that journal. My obvious curiousness was evident in my wide-eyed expression. Looking down at her blue paper book, she said,

“Can you believe I haven't always been left-handed?'' She looked up at me, waiting for my answer, and I nodded.

“My mom said I wouldn’t be able to do it; write with my left hand. I wanted to show my mom that she was wrong and that I could do anything. I thought she was being mean and bullying me. I learned slowly, she only said things like that because she knew I could do it. My mother knew that it would make me work harder. She knew that every accomplishment I achieved would boost my self-esteem. I taught myself to write with my left hand in five minutes.” She cut out a piece of paper and handed it to me. She wrote: Wednesday, In September in perfect cursive.

I've been left-handed all my life, but my cursive handwriting has never looked like that. The way the letters flow comfortably into each other. It was perfectly written by a right-handed person. Everything she taught herself she should do again was done with grace.

"You can actually keep it. You know we met on a Wednesday two months ago." She was so right, we met on a Wednesday in September. I thanked her and at that moment I knew she was starting to trust me.

"Never let anyone tell you that you can't do it. Never think it's impossible to do something unless you've tried all the options. I never allow myself to be told that I can't do something."

"The doctor said that a prosthetic leg won't be possible until the swelling in my leg goes down. Sometimes I feel like I'll never be able to walk again, but I've given up hope. No. I used to have a lot of shoes. Every Nike Jordan you can imagine. I'd be happy with just one pair if I could walk again."

"I get so angry when I hear someone complain about their feet hurting. I can't stand that shit! I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I just can't help but put their ass in check. I say to the bitch, 'Bitch, you're so ungrateful. Are you blind at the same time as ignorant? Hello, I'm in a wheelchair with no legs.”

She demanded respect, and I admired her for that. I was never someone who could stand up for myself until I knew her. Eventually, the backbone she instilled in me grew.

December, Smiles Wrapped in Wool:

Christmas was approaching, but it hadn't snowed yet. Millie, a Chicago native, had been disappointed with Seattle's December weather every winter since she moved. I felt I needed to give her something to cheer her up.

I handed Millie a plastic shopping bag and was excited to see her reaction. I told her that's what she wanted. She needed to open it quickly. She pulled out a green wool knit sweater. She was so grateful and she wished she could have given me something.

After hugging her for about five minutes, she finally tried it on. It was as if it had been custom-made for Millie. It looked so good on her, and she knew it. She emphasizes her petite, feminine shoulders. The shoulders I wish I had, the shoulders that most women have.

The smile she wore that day is one I’ll never forget. A smile that could turn every head in a room occupying a thousand people. It could have given light in the darkest cave. The type of smile that made everyone around her smile. A smile that was my Christmas present.

January, My Father My Hero:

I received a call from my father informing me that he would be going back to Germany for work. He was gone for a month, the time before and I hated how much I missed him.. She mentioned during our conversation that I was a dutiful daughter. I thanked her and asked how often she talked to her father.

“Every day because he’s in heaven. My pop died. He died when I was 16. That‘s why we moved from Chicago. My mom is here. She was from a family where she needed someone to help me, my sister, and my brother. My grandparents took us in. I guess I was a daddy’s girl.”

Her father was a blessing to her. It was a beautiful place and a keepsake that remained fresh in her memory.

“I still felt empty. I was the fourth of six children. I have two older brothers, an older sister, a younger sister, and a younger brother. We were the Hood Brady Bunch."

"Me and my older sister, we were always beefin'. I felt my mother was harder on me than my siblings. I was jealous of her relationship with my mother. Especially my big sister and she was jealous of my relationship with my dads. He did his best with us children."

"My dad protected me from a lot of shit. He didn’t put up with anything and people respected him. It’s crazy because my dad’s voice sounded like he was a nerdy, conservative white boy. Yes, Pops may have sounded like him, but you can never judge a book by its cover. Nobody messed with my father. When he died, oh my God, I admit the loss of my limbs wasn’t much worse.”

I was remaking her bed. Whenever she took her water pills she would have an accident. Once the swelling in her legs happened, it would become so severe that her skin would be inflamed. The on-call doctor advised her to go to the hospital after her blood pressure spiked. Her refusal to budge resulted in her not going. I sympathized with her, as I shared her hatred for hospitals.

“So, yeah, I have always felt like he was the only person who understood me. Still to this day, I feel like that. Anyway, that was a long time ago. Why do I still miss him so much?”

Because he is your soulmate. It is not stated that a soulmate has to be a romantic partner. They could also be a friend or even a pet. In Millie's situation, her soulmate was her father. I reassured her that I believed her dad was looking down on her with pride. It would be impossible for him not to be proud of her. She extended her arms to embrace me before saying goodnight. As her face touched mine, I could feel the dampness of her tears on my cheek.

February, A Valentine of Storm and Strife:

At that time, my admiration for Millie transformed from being a mentor to being like a mother figure. I spent months wondering about the whereabouts of her husband, with whom she had three children. Why wasn't he fulfilling his responsibilities towards her? Did he abandon her because of what occurred?

The truth is... she was the one who left him because he was abusive. Millie never let anyone or anything victimize her. She viewed herself as a survivor, particularly from the violence inflicted by her ex-husband. I expressed my apologies for being intrusive.

“It’s alright you didn’t know. I just couldn’t live in fear anymore. I was tired of being beaten almost every day. We met when we were only eighteen. He proposed after a week and I accepted without hesitation. The very next day we eloped. It wasn't long before the abuse started. The bruises he left weren’t visible at first. Then, it got so bad it scarred me for life. This one time, he kidnapped and hogtied me. Throwing me in the trunk of our car he pulled out his gun pointing it to my head saying he’d shoot me if I cried.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and my heart truly broke for her. I felt it skipping beats and sinking into my stomach. My eyes welled up with tears as I questioned why she had stayed for such a long time.

“Because I was scared. I thought he would change if I stayed and kill me if I left. I didn't want to just give up on our marriage. Eventually, I lost myself. I’d forgotten who I was. One morning I woke up out of a coma I was in for almost a month. He had stabbed me seven times. Nothing ever happened to him. His homies made up an alibi and story for him. They told the police someone had broken into our house. After that, I packed my kids up and we left. Seven years of abuse was enough. My mom took my kids and I went to Vegas. At the time it seemed like the best choice out of my limited options. I was supposed to go to Vegas to make some quick money and start a new life for me and my kids."

"Their daddy ended up going to prison for some other shit. Vegas sucked me in. I missed my kids and harbored a lot of guilt, but that's a different story for another day.”

I turned off her lamp and wished her a peaceful sleep. Throughout the entire bus journey back home, her story resided within me, and I could feel the depth of her pain. I wondered how she managed to stay so resilient. It was clear that the words "quit" or "give up" had no place in her dictionary. They held no meaning for her.

March, What happened in Vegas she left behind:

“So Millie you never told me what happened to you in Vegas? How did you get stuck?”

It took me a couple of weeks to work up the nerve of asking. She was playing a casino slots game on her phone and I took that as a sign.

“Well, my first mistake was my first day in Vegas. It was the first time I tried heroin.”

Her first date with the insipid fixation ended with her overdosing. With Its tight fast grip, it grabbed and yanked her forcing and manipulating its way into her life. Dependency saw its chance to take advantage of her vulnerability. At first, it was only a means of coping. She, at the time, didn’t want to care. Initially using it to paralyze the pain so far endured, in time, had desensitized her from everything, good and bad, entirely.

“Being away from my kids was so much harder than I thought it was gonna be. Man, I knew I was gonna miss them but damn. Heroin just filled that void. The nothingness inside me I could only compare to a big empty oblivion."

"Luckily I had a nice man who paid for my apartment and all my bills even gave me an allowance. He never knew I did heroin and would cut me off had he found out. He had a son my age. Somehow his son knew what my deal was and came to me sick one time. I ended up getting him better and feel so responsible for enabling him. I can't help but think, What if that was one of my kids?”

She couldn't possibly have felt like it was her fault. As an addict, he would have found it somewhere else. At least with her, he was in a safe and familiar environment.

“The son just actually passed away about three years ago. I called and gave my respects. I wanted so badly to tell his father the truth. All I could do was thank him for all he’d done for me when I was in Vegas and let him know how sorry I was for his loss. He doesn’t know about me losing my limbs. I felt like if he knew then he’d know I had an addiction I kept from him. Maybe I should have told him and been honest.”

Millie, some things are simply best left unspoken. You were present for both of them in the only way you knew how to be at that time. It is evident that they still harbor affection for you, indicating that you were what fulfilled their emotional emptiness.

April, I wish it were a prank:

April showers were abundant. Millie was completely engrossed in her writing, expressing her emotions through her gaze on paper.

“I'm not even gonna wait for you to ask. I’m just gonna go ahead and tell you. I’m writing about my heart surgeries."

"I had to leave Vegas and fly back here so my family could help me after surgery. Why didn't I just stop using? It took me losing my legs. I lied to myself telling myself after the second one “It ain't gonna happen to you again.” I was clean after the first one. I spent over a year and a half learning to walk again. My doctor still cries every time I go to my visits. He says I'm his miracle. I didn’t take his warning seriously."

"I didn't go back to Vegas I stayed here and was messing up bad. I took my family and life for granted. Only two years, two short years, and Deja Vu struck hard. My mom and kids still stayed with me. After everything I did, they STILL with me! How do I ever show them how grateful I am? How could I ever have questioned my mom's love for me?”

Because Millie, you have your mom's blood running through your veins, and your children have yours, all of you are cut from the same cloth. Your mom helped you, just like your grandparents helped her. If your sons or daughters ever need you in the future, you can provide the same support for them. This represents the cycle of unconditional love.

May, Here yesterday, gone forever:

She had everything at one point, but then the universe snatched it away. One moment she had feet, and the next they vanished. What thoughts occupied her mind prior to the surgery? Was she fearful, knowing that she would wake up missing her feet and a portion of her arm? And what about when she finally woke up after the surgery? I was curious to understand the sensation she experienced.

I was applying coconut oil to her hair, which was another challenging task she had been performing independently. It seemed nearly impossible for her to do in her current circumstances. I had explicitly stated that she had the absolute right to tell me to leave if any of my questions were becoming bothersome or disrespectful.

“I wanted to die. I’d forgotten what happened. Realization sunk in when I reached out to hang on with no hand trying to stand. I had fallen out of bed in the process. Everything went numb and anything anybody was saying was in some other language. All their voices seemed like they were far away in the distance."

"All them years I thought my mom didn't love me. I was wrong. She and my son never left my side. My son would go to school all day. After school, he took an hour bus ride to the hospital. Then he’d stay the night with me just to do it all again the next day. And my mom, she was right there with him. A mother who doesn’t love their child, wouldn't be there day after day minute after minute helping them when they lost their limbs. My mom kept reminding me I had a reason to live."

"My daughters were too emotional and it hurt me to see them so sad over what happened. So I only allowed them to come on the weekends."

"I really knew at that moment who truly loved me. I quickly learned who my true friends were. I wanted to give up so many times. Then my first Grandbaby was born. The joy she brought into my life I didn't think could happen again. That was until my second grandbaby was born. All the sadness I felt left me. My problems didn't matter. My life had meaning again. I could be having the most horrible day then I get a new picture or I get to talk to one of them or even get a visit. All of a sudden I forget I was even mad or upset. When I see my two little girls, the shallow things go away."

"I used to dwell on no man ever loving me again. How could a man ever find me beautiful? But a man does love me and finds me beautiful and that’s God. I know he has a plan for me.”

I was unable to comprehend the situation. How could she not realize her own beauty? Perhaps it was a result of the abuse she endured both mentally and physically. Why is it that people find it easier to believe negative things rather than positive ones? Many of us can easily disregard compliments and focus on insults. This woman was undeniably beautiful, both internally and externally. I wanted to express to her that one's physical appearance does not determine their beauty. The person she transformed into was far more extraordinary than her previous self.

June, Please know I'm sorry:

Millie was in desperate need of my assistance. She phoned me to inform me that the swelling was causing her pain and her blood pressure was alarmingly high, prompting the recommendation for her to be taken to the hospital.

Upon my arrival, Millie appeared pale and cyanotic, pleading with me to refrain from contacting emergency services. I felt fearful for her as I held a bucket for her to vomit into and constantly went between her bed and bathroom to empty her bedpan and clean her, doing so every five to ten minutes. She definitely made me put in some effort that day.

“Please just keep me company.” she struggled to say while crying and vomiting

How would Millie be if the roles were reversed? I had to stay strong but it was so hard to hold back my emotions. So I asked her

“Please tell me another story, any story.”

Catching her breath laying back into her pillow she closed her eyes and said,

“Well, I wasn't a good person. Shit, I've robbed people. I've beaten bitches up just for fun. I've hurt people. I was a prostitute who would blackmail my Johns. I’d threaten to tell their wives and kids if they didn't pay me large amounts of money. Shit, I have even been to prison. I’d say karma got me."

"My oldest daughter, I feel like she hates me. She feels I neglected her and my other kids. I pray for their forgiveness, Gods, and anyone I've ever hurt."

"Do you think when a parent knows being away from their children is better for them it’s the right choice? I hurt my children, especially my oldest daughter. I think I would have fucked their lives up had I stuck around."

"My mom did a great job though. Look how successful they are. My son and youngest daughter went to college with scholarships for basketball. My oldest went to college on a track scholarship. My son manages a Walmart. My daughters own their real estate company. They are all three married. I’m so proud of all three of my kids.”

I believe that despite being emotionally scarred and hurting inside, this person made excellent choices for her children. Allowing pride to interfere would have been selfish. She endured immense suffering from missing them but did what was best for them. I believe she made the right decision by leaving her abusive husband, even though it must have been incredibly difficult. This makes her a wonderful mother in my opinion, as well as in the eyes of her children. I remained by her side throughout the entire night and for a few days afterward. The tears and toxins she released during that time seemed to cleanse her soul. She shared with me the things she had done and expressed remorse for them. Remarkably, she never questioned God or complained, and never uttered the phrase "OH GOD WHY ME?" She accepted everything she endured, faced it head-on, and moved forward. This experience transformed her for the better, and she was truly at peace with it.

July, This is for those who have never walked in my shoes:

It was the end of my workday, and I was preparing to leave for Mexico that evening. I had to ensure that Millie's fridge and cupboards were stocked, her linens and clothes were washed, and her medications were easily accessible. I even made sure to replace the batteries in her remote control. My goal was to minimize her stress levels. I was folding her laundry when suddenly, Millie tapped me on the waist from behind.

“I want you to have this, but promise me you won’t read it til you’re on the plane. I’ll see you in two weeks. Have a safe trip. Don't be afraid to check in with me. I’m still your boss when you’re on vacation.”

She handed me a tiny pocket-sized journal. I remember how badly I’d wanted her to come. I was worried about leaving her. Her doctor wouldn’t allow her to fly due to her heart. I told her I loved her and hugged her tight as we said goodbye.

“Don’t be so sad. I promise I’m all good.”

I kept my promise. The chaos of taking off always made me panic. So, I read her journal to calm my nerves. Her words soothed on that bumpy ride up.

( Am I broken? Every day I ask myself if the heroin was worth it. There were millions of moments I’d spent wanting to walk away from what lured me. With its warm dark presence inviting me to taste its sweet ripe nectar. A poison I once prayed to stop missing. My obsession allowed it to abuse me. Obscuring my awareness of any harsh conditions eventually made me numb to everything.

Now I have one arm with half a hand to fend for myself and with no feet still able to stand my ground. Life’s everyday routines once simple became complicated learning to do again with absent limbs.

Never again will I enjoy those things so many take for granted. Significant things for me like walking on a tropical beach enjoying the sun-warmed sand between my toes. Wading in the sea's salty water. With each tide, it takes away the gritty shore beneath my feet while I sink deeper into the earth. Throwing myself into the ocean on a wave. One of the spring's fresh days catching my breath at the top of the same mountain I went sledding down on a snowy winter day. Dancing, skipping, jumping rope, and deciding on a new pair of Jordans. Roller Coasters wind on my face. Climbing a ladder. How to play an instrument. Eating with chopsticks. Most of all putting my hands to my grandchildren’s hands comparing theirs to mine.

For the breathing of my time left, I have been given a constant remembrance the minute I wake until I retire to dream. It has been my hardest battle. My memories won’t fade, even if my memory fades. But by accepting and embracing what’s happened I realize, that embracing something without arms isn't impossible. I was never alone on this journey. The love from my children and acceptance from my mother filled every hardship.

The first time I caught endocarditis I skipped away. The second I should have fallen but I wandered. The third time, God taught me by taking both my legs and an arm. I wasn’t competent to run away. Instead, I pulled myself up with one hand and cleared away the wreckage for my family to follow. I regard this as a miracle of continuation and growth. I am not a lifeless body. I am an example to set, and an inspiration to some, but most of all I am still here to share my story. I used to see only shame but those tribulations I've endured were my mistakes to be taught as lessons. Lessons my kids have learned from. Never has a mother been so proud. I’ve learned to cherish life and treasure all the love given and received. Always holding close my courage and my spirit.)

Over and over I read that journal so perfectly written. Then, before I knew it we were landing.

August, Goodbye my friend:

I never saw her again. Millie passed away from congestive heart failure just two days after I left. She was discovered in bed by a staff member, at the age of forty-five. Her true essence will be forever cherished by all those who know her. There is a well-known saying, "Fall down seven times, stand up eight," and she embodied this perfectly. Despite facing numerous challenges including the loss of her father, domestic violence, a stabbing incident, a coma, separation from her children, drug addiction, endocarditis, three open heart surgeries, and amputation, she still managed to maintain a radiant smile. Within a span of approximately one year, I had the privilege of knowing a remarkable woman who profoundly impacted my life. She taught me the importance of self-love and most importantly to never give up.

September, One year later on a Wednesday:

I was shopping at a local thrift store. Looking through the sweaters, there it was. Same missing string on the inside, and the same small tear in the shoulder. Our green wool knitted sweater. I couldn't believe it, she made sure to give it to me when she was done with it.

My dear friend, this is my goodbye to you. I may have never walked in your shoes but I've worn your sweater. A sweater that's kept me warm when the world has been so cold. I know wherever you are you're rockin a new pair of Jordans with matching wings walking and flying forever watching over your family.