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Chapter 7: Steve

10 Wednesday Apr 2019

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This is Chapter 7 from my book. No, I haven’t finished it yet. Yes, I am still working on it. I just got an email from Steve, whom this chapter is about, and as the 6th anniversary of the bombing is upon us, I thought it was an appropriate time to share. Steve will always be part of my story. He was there when I desperately needed to not be alone. I was in and out of consciousness, had no idea what was going on, Colton had put me in an ambulance and they wouldn’t let him come, so I was terrified and confused. I don’t remember much about that ambulance ride, but Steve held my hand the whole way. And that is something I will never forget.

Chapter 7: Steve

“How we all came together that day, that’s what’s important to me. Not the evil part of it, but the best of us.” Mery Daniel

A few days before being transferred from Boston Medical to Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital, a nurse came into my room to let me know that the man who rode in the ambulance with me was hoping to see me before he also left for rehab. They rolled him in on a stretcher and when he saw me tears formed in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. I started crying as well. Our journey is one we will probably never share with anyone else. 

I asked if they had found his son. (Steve had been with his 4 year old son when the bomb went off and they were separated when Steve was injured) They had. He only had a small scratch on his head. Thank God. And Steve? He said he was fine. But I pushed. Really?

Fine?

No.

His leg had been amputated from the knee down.  I cried even more. This sweet man who had been watching the marathon with his four-year-old son would never be the same. None of us would be. 

Tears on both our cheeks, we promised to find each other at rehab. A few days later when I was taken to Spaulding, we ended up on the same floor, and when I saw Steve my first day in the gym for physical therapy, I rolled my wheelchair over to him and he hugged me so tight. Something our hospital beds hadn’t allowed.

We have a bond, one that no one else will ever understand. When Steve testified at Tsarnaev’s trial, he talked about being in the ambulance with me. “I asked her to give me her hand,” he said, “because I wanted to hold someone’s hand.”

Sometimes, in suffering, you need to know you are not alone. You want to know there is someone who has gone through the same thing. Someone knows how you are feeling without having to say anything. Who can cry with you and give you a hug. 

Sometimes you just need someone’s hand to hold. I don’t know Steve very well, but I know he held my hand during some off the scariest moments of my life. That is something I will never forget, and also something for which I will be eternally grateful.

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Now 6 years later Steve is an INSPIRATION! He is doing amazing things in Boston and his son is almost 10 years old! This video is amazing and I just couldn’t be happier for Steve and his family. Proud to call him my friend.

Steve Woolfenden • Adaptive Sports at Spaulding from Design Museum Foundation on Vimeo.

 

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a hero?

11 Tuesday Apr 2017

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I am writing my book proposal. I know. I always say that. But this time for real. It’s been written. And re written. And re written again. So yeah, I’m re writing it. I’m sure not for the last time. Something I just read said that your book proposal should present your topic, describe an urgent gap in the topic and then introduce the author as the hero who will be able to fill that gap. I feel ultimately deflated and not able to be that hero. Obviously I don’t think of myself as any expert on any subject, let alone the subject of suffering. But I have to write this proposal suggesting myself as the hero who can fill a gap in this subject area?

My book is the heroic document that will solve the worlds suffering problem and bring healing to the masses.

Yeah right.

Surely that is not what is expected of me.

The real reason I started writing was selfishly only for myself. For my healing. I think it was very profitable. I explored my story. My feelings. I wrote them down and I was able to look at all the events and explore them all to see how those things were affecting my life. This four-year journey has been weird. And has had lots of ups and downs. I know that I have learned a lot of things. Most of them I still can’t even put into words. But I don’t think I am the hero.

I don’t know how to sell myself or sell my book to a publisher as someone who is filling a gap. Let alone the only one who is able to fill that gap. I know that there are gaps. I know that there are people suffering. Who feel like they are alone. And I think that is my main objective. To just put it out there and say hey I went through this, and I went through suffering and its maybe not the same as yours, but I felt it and I know kinda what you are feeling and there are lots of other people feeling it too and you aren’t alone! You are not alone!

But is that heroic?

I went to get special orthotics the other day. Like an old person. I know. LAME. The man fitting me for the orthotics was a double amputee. He lost his legs in a car accident. He asked for my story to get a better idea of what was going on with my foot and as I shared with him he was amazed. He walked me around the place introducing me to other workers exclaiming loudly that I was in a bomb and that I was a hero. I don’t know how being in a bomb makes me a hero. It’s not like I did it intentionally. Or saved anyone else’s life. I was in a bomb and I lived. But to me that isn’t heroic. It’s just stupid. Wrong place, wrong time. I survived. Which is good I guess. But where do heroics come into that?

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that. How he kept telling me I was a hero. And I talk to my boss, a retired marine, who was in bombs but in defending and protecting our country. And I think he is a hero. But not me. He put himself in harm’s way to protect us. That is heroic.

A hero is defined as: “a person noted for courageous acts or nobility of character;
a person who, in the opinion of others, has special achievements, abilities, or personal qualities and is regarded as a role model or ideal; or the principal character in a story, play, film, etc. (dictionary.com) I certainly don’t feel like I had any courageous acts or nobility. But I would love to be distinguished as a role model and in the story of my life, that I am writing, I am the principal character.

So in this day, in this weird space, I am trying to figure out if I am a hero. And how to best present myself in that light even thought I don’t believe it about myself. Because I want this publisher to see me that way. I want him to be desperate to publish my book. But am I asking him to believe something about me that I don’t believe about myself. And do I need to believe it in order for it to indeed be true or is it a “fake it till you make it” situation? Am I the only one who can fill this gap? Am I the only one who can talk about suffering and how to get through it and how to learn from it and how to put God in the middle of it as the only means of actually making sense of it? No. Other people can do that. But I am the only one who can tell this story. And so, I am going to be this hero. And I am going back to writing my proposal. To convince the publisher that I am the hero worth having.

Three Years

15 Friday Apr 2016

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Three years ago I wrote these posts. Can you believe its been three years? So many ups and downs. Such a journey. The bonds we have formed with other survivors, people like Steve. Dara. Sam. Nicole. Liza. Linda… These can never be replaced. No one knows my feelings like they do. No one understands my emotions as much as they do. What a BLESSING it has been to have such a wonderful, tight knit group come out of something so tragic. I love that three years after the bomb we are even closer and I imagine thirty years down the road we will still be the best of friends. We share a bond that can never be taken away. To my survivor family, I love you guys. I couldn’t get through the hard days without you.

Today is a lot of mixed emotions. Mostly I am fine. This is the first year I haven’t gone back for the marathon so it does feel a bit like something is missing. I know it seems strange to want to go back to that place, but its more going back to my people, my city. Those who were so strong for me when I had no strength of my own. The community of survivors is what I miss on days like this. And on marathon monday I know I will be missing them even more. Knowing they are all gathered together, cheering on the next set of Boston Marathoners.

Most people now don’t know. I live in a new place. With new friends. A new job. It is weird to have people who know so little about the biggest event in my life. Some know absolutely nothing. But it isn’t something I tell people anymore. It seems so strange to bring it up. Oh yeah, I was in a bomb. My leg is a mess and yeah you know… I don’t want pity. And no one understands. So sometimes its better to just keep that part of my life in the unknown. But it’s still a part of me. It’s part of who I am. I will always bear the scars. I don’t usually think about it. But today is a day to remember… So here’s some old stuff from those first few days.

4-23-13

Today I met Steve. Steve was in the ambulance with me when we rode to the hospital. He was watching the marathon with his 4 year old son. He was hurt far worse than I. But all I remember from the ambulance is him holding my hand and alternating a between telling me it was going to be ok, and yelling at the medics to find his son who was now all alone. He held my hand the whole way. i have been wondering about him. How he was doing. Did they ever find his son? So today, then the nurse told me the man who rode in the ambulance with me was hoping to see me before he left for rehab, I was of course eager to see him. He came in on a stretcher, on his way out of the hospital. when he saw me tears formed in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. I of course started crying as well. his son had been missing when we were together in the ambulance so I inquired after him first. They foun him and he only had a small scratch on his head an was fine. Thank God. And Steve? He said he was fine. But I pushed. Really fine? No. His leg was missing from the knee down. I cried even more. My leg is useless and probably will be for a very long time, but at least I have it. Steve is going to the same rehab center that I am so as he was pulled out of my room we promised to find each other. I don’t know Steve. But I know he held my hand during some off the scariest moments of my life. And for that I will be eternally grateful.

4-24-13

Rehab has three hours of physical therapy a day. That scares me. But then I remember that Meggie and I were spending almost 3 hours a day at the Y before I came here, so I got this! We were swimming almost an hour a day and I know that is the only reason I have the upper body strength to pull myself around on the walker. God was preparing me for this long before I even knew I would need the strength.  Amazing right?

Please continue to pray for pain management for all of us. It can be extremely frustrating to be in so much pain. Also continue to pray for God’s healing in each of our lives. Lastly pray for my family members who although they were not hospitalized, still experienced as much trauma as we did and who are getting very worn traveling from hospital, to hospital, surgery, to surgery. There is no way we could make it through each day without all of your prayers. Thank you so much for your faithfulness.

4-26-13

I am moved to rehab. Kim and Colton and my Aunt Shari have gone. Slowly the visitors are dwindling down and people are returning to their normal lives. But what does that mean? Many of us will not be returning to normal life. Maybe ever. Our injuries will be with us. We may never walk normally again. We may never be the same as we were before. Even if we get to “normal” physically, these events will always be with us. And I can’t even process that yet. I don’t know what that will look like one month from now, one year from now, ten years from now. But I read these verses and I am comforted. My Father knows what the future looks like, and He tells me “do not be worried about your life.” I hope that comforts you. I hope that you can read these verses and find some peace. The road ahead is long. And will be very painful. But we can do it one day at a time.

25“For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?26“Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?27“And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?28“And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin,29yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these.30“But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith!31“Do not worry then, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear for clothing?’32“For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.33“But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. 34“So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

4-29-13

Anyway, there have been several comments that whenever we show up in a picture, there is utter chaos surrounding us, but we all look so peaceful. We are either laying patiently on the ground, or sitting calmly. In the midst of chaos, peace. And I never would have had a second thought about it, but several people have brought it up today. And I’m not ready to write about all that happened in those moments. The explosion etc, but I would like to address this one subject.

First of all, there must have been hundreds of angels all around us. The new Chris Tomlin song Whom Shall I Fear kept running through my head. “The God of Angel armies is always by my side”. So yes, I believe there were angels all around us. We were so close to the bomb, we should be hurt much worse, or even dead. Although our injuries are extensive, they should have been much worse. Second, Colton brought this up to me today. People keep asking “where was God in all of this?” Just look at the pictures. Look at the chaos and then look at me or Rebekah, or Peter or Kim or Colton. That’s where God was. We are His children, filled with His Spirit. In the midst of chaos, He WAS there. Third, I believe that God gave us so so much grace. Grace to think clearly. To know how to respond in trauma. To know to tie tourniquets. Or to coach people to breathe. Or to know how to communicate with the first responders. Not one of us lost control or freaked out.

Someday I’m sure I will look at the pictures. But I just want you to know today, that God was there. He was with us. We would not be where we are today if it weren’t for Him. And as we are experiencing more and more of His grace everyday, we are amazed and speechless and we just keep clinging to Him.

I know who goes before me
I know who stands behind
The God of angel armies is always by my side
The One who reigns forever
He is a friend of mine
The God of angel armies is always by my side