Your Wheels are Up!

(Written to a friend whose 44 year marriage ended with the death of her husband who had been confined, by a stroke, to a wheelchair for the last 14 years).

21 June 2010

Dear Corliss,

I'm sorry it took this long to get the copy of Richard's obituary that was in the Chronicle to you. I've been trying to find something I wrote about you a long time ago -- but I don't have it anymore. That's strange because I always have copies of everything. Years ago I sent it to Linda (yes, I'm going to incriminate her) because I didn't have your address. I think she held onto it so long that she misplaced it.

It was one of those personal essay, walk-down-memory-lane kind of things that you never forget because it impacts your life so greatly. I know you probably don't remember but I had the only 26" bike on the block with training wheels! I was always afraid of falling -- that's why I never learned to skate either. I would go to skating parties and stood there watching and letting the breeze from all the Richard McGees and JoJo Moons whizzing by blow my hair back. I got laughed at about having that big, shiny new candy apple red Schwinn with those little training wheels on it. I would go up and down 22nd Street leanin' to one side or the other depending on one of those little wheels to keep me from falling over. Then, one day you decided enough was enough. You kept telling me I could ride without the training wheels and you stood in front of our house and watched me go back and forth -- all the time giving me encouragement: "OK. They were both up for a minute. Lean more the other way. Straighten up. You got it!" You'd yell at me as I flew by. I thought you'd get tired pretty soon but you kept watching me and finally I heard you holler: "They're up! They're both up! You're doing it! Your wheels are up!"

Daddy was home so I flew back to the garage and proudly told him: "Daddy, you can take my training wheels off. Corliss told me they were both up!" He got his wrench and took the training wheels off and you went home. Your mission accomplished. Why do I remember that day so clearly? There's only one explanation. It meant alot to me. I grew up some more, I got freedom from my fear [of falling off a bike] and a friend looked out for me -- she had my back.

I wish I could do as much for you today. You may not feel it but other eyes have seen it. The most important eyes being God's. Eyes have seen you grow up, take charge and persevere in the face of your doubts and fears. Now, a friend would like you to know: "They're up! You're going to do it! Your wheels are up!"

I love you with the love of Christ