Scooter For Sale, Inquire Within
Have I got a story to tell you.
I’m not sure how I am going to approach this, but I want to just say this before I start:
My sister, Diane, is the strongest person I have ever known.
Now, with that said, let me tell you what she did.
Recently, we had a loss in our family. My sister’s boyfriend Bill, (a wonderful, gentle man) passed away. It was a tremendous loss to us, and we each handle loss in our own special way.
In some cases, that special way may not exactly be the best way.
After a memorial service for Bill, and a repast at my sister’s church, a few friends and family members returned to my nieces house to continue our remembrance.
It was a beautiful day, (thanks for the blue skies, Bill) there were people inside, and outside, of the house.
It was twilight, I was with a small group gathered on the side of the driveway. After a while, down on the road, I see a lone figure, dressed in black on a manual scooter, glide away from the house.
A second later I ask to no one in particular, “Is that my sister?”
Dante, my sister’s son, follows my gaze, sees the figure on the scooter and says, “Yup, that’s my mom.”
Her figure glided passed the cornfield, dressed in black, and continued to the end of the road. She looked serene and appeared to float above the asphalt. Once at the end, she turned around, and headed back (and passed) my niece’s house. We watch her reach the corner, through the STOP sign, turn right, and disappear down that street.
We waited – and waited – and waited for her return, which occurred ten minutes later as we watch her walk the scooter back toward the house.
Once she reached the house, my nephew Christopher (Firefighter/EMT), asked if she was all right.
“Sure,” Diane smiled, “just took a little spill.”
She then asked her son Joe (medical school student) if she could talk to him inside.
This exchanged was noticed by Christopher, who then asked his wife Melanie (Nurse Practitioner) to follow them inside.
I was oblivious to all this until I went into the house, and there was my sister, at the dinning room table. Her pant leggings ripped open to expose the blood on her leg, her right sleeve up, showing the blood on her arm, while all three of the aforementioned medical professionals attended to her.
Her son Joe ran his fingers through her hair (to see if she hit her head) like a gorilla grooming a partner’s fur. Christopher asked for a flashlight to check pupils, while Melanie did prep on her injuries and overall condition.
It really was a wonder to behold.
She had to go to the bathroom, but when she returned to the dinning room, she looked like she was about to pass out. Later, she told us that when she emerged from the bathroom, everything started to turn black.
That’s when the makeshift medical squad moved her into the living room, and onto the couch.
I went outside to warn the rest of the family what they will find when they go back inside the house.
Now Diane’s other two sons, Jack and Dante, stood by their mom.
The decision was made to take her to the hospital, so my sister-in-law Terry pulled her car up to the front of the house.
Fortunately for my sister, her eyes were closed, and could not see the terrified looks of concern stamped on each and everyone’s face.
Not sure what was stamped on my face, but one of my nephew’s friends, Jeff, came up behind me, put his hand on my shoulder, and asked me if I was all right, and said that Diane was going to be fine.
Thought that was sweet, and I really appreciated the gesture in the moment.
This next part was the hardest for us to watch, and sure my explanation will not give it the weight it deserves.
While her son, niece, and nephew continued to ensure that Diane was well attended, one thing changed that horrified us.
With her eyes closed, the color on her face changed dramatically.
It was not flushed, or pale, or gray, or white. Even today, each person in that room might deliver a different answer when asked, “After the accident, what color was Diane’s face?”
My answer?
The best way to describe it is, the texture, expression, and color of her face was exactly that of a person in a casket.
In the middle of this, there was a frantic search for Diane’s cell phone. We thought it must have dropped when she ‘took a little spill’, so a handful of us formed a search party and, cell phone flashlights on, we combed the street where she fell.
Each of us dialed (dialed?) her number and it either rang or went directly to voice mail.
Turns out, the phone was not lost. Someone saw it on the table, and put it in my sister-in-laws purse by mistake.
By the time we returned, my sister was in the car, color returned to normal, as she directed people what to do while she was gone, from the front passenger seat.
At the hospital, a young nurse asked her what happened. My brother Joe, his wife Terry, and Diane’s son Joe looked at each other, then all turned to my sister.
“You tell her,” they said in unison.
So my sister told her what happened. That she wanted some solitude after a long day, and took the scooter for a ride; she’d done the same when she lived in Livingston. However, Diane knew the roads in Livingston, but not so much in my niece’s neighborhood.
As she made the right at the end of the street, it was a steeper grade than she realized. When she tried to stop, the scooter skipped, and she flew off into the gravel. Besides the scrapes on her arms and legs, she also sprained an ankle.
It must have been a long walk back up that hill.
When Diane finished, the nurse smiled and said, “The same thing happened to my Dad!”
“How old is you Dad?” my sister asked the nurse.
“Fifty-five.”
My sister laughed and said, “Well, I have a few more years on him.”
It’s been a while since the ‘incident’ and her ankle still bothers her (maybe because she doesn’t sit still long enough to let it heal).
But for my sister, I’m sure her ankle is the least thing about her that hurts.
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