John was recently sharing a story with Eva about when we had motorcycles. It made me nostalgic. Thought I’d share here.
For a short period of time soon after John and I were married, pre-Eva, and pre-TBI (well before this last TBI) we each had a Harley Davidson motorcycle. When we first met, John asked me if I would ride behind him if he were to get a motorcycle again (he’d had them growing up and before he met me). I replied that I would be happy to ride next to him and with him, on my own bike. One of the reasons we work so well is that John thought this was a great idea. He values my independence and wild nature.
We had a lot of fun together, going on little excursions all over Colorado. We were never able to go on a longer trip but were planning for that. The thing I loved the most about riding a motorcycle was the smells. When you’re in a car, even with the windows rolled down, you don’t smell all the things around you, unless they are very strong smells. On a bike though, that changes. When driving by a pasture for instance you can smell the grass, the dirt, the livestock (not so pleasant if it’s a diary), the water. It’s the smell of the earth and the sunshine and the wind. It’s beautiful. The mountains, of course, smell amazing with the pine and musty decay. I also enjoyed the ability to be on a ride with John, together, but also apart, individually lost in our own thoughts.
We kept our bikes for a number of months after his accident. John didn’t try to ride again after the accident but we kept them, thinking that he might get better. At one visit with his occupational therapist, an amazing woman who has become our friend, John asked her what would happen if he got another TBI. This question came after weeks or maybe months of weekly appointments with her so she knew him well and knew he had practiced martial arts before and rode a motorcycle before and wanted to return to those things and more. She dropped her pen, looked at John, and said something to the effect of, “Would you like to wear a diaper for the rest of your life? Because, if you get back on that bike or return to Krav Maga, or slip and fall and hit your head again that could very well happen.” This response hit home with John, more so than all the other things he had learned and been told about his TBI.
It was soon after that appointment that he decided to sell his Harley. I didn’t want to ride much without a partner and didn’t have a huge interest in trying to find some riding groups, and, didn’t want to take the risk of getting hurt as well. One person in the family with a catastrophic TBI is enough.
Hence, I decided to sell my bike as well. I knew I didn’t like it but knew it was the right thing. The day I followed John (Him in his truck. He’d already sold his bike.) to the dealership to sign paperwork for them to sell it, I was melancholic. I cried when we finally got into the truck, the deed done, to head home, without my bike. I was surprised then by my emotional reaction. Looking back, I don’t think it was so much the loss of the bike but another nail in the coffin of the realization that our lives were changing, that John really was severely injured, that he wasn’t going to be able to push through this one or fully recover.
Now, I still become melancholic if I think about it for too long but I really get a kick out of sharing my adventure stories with Eva. I like being a role model for her, maybe not so much with the thought that she might someday ride, but that she has a bad ass mom. I like that I have real life examples where she learns that she can do and be anything she wants. I just realized that today is International Women’s Day. This post seems even more fitting now. 😊
Sending out love to all the women out there.
TBI Spouse (and Others) 