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                                               Brother Larry Ritchey                      " Free Spirit " Artist: Jillane Curreen

 When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support,  to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend and they are.  They are there for the reason you need them to be.  Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.  Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away.  Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand.  What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done.  The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.  

There are many different responses to crisis. Most survivors have intense feelings after a traumatic event but recover from the trauma; others have more difficulty recovering — especially those who have had previous traumatic experiences, who are faced with ongoing stress, or who lack support from friends and family — and will need additional help.

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Bikers worst nightmare

A Biker’s Worst Nightmare & How Human Compassion
(Not Just From Family) But Strangers & How It Changed Her

As a child this girl moved from town to town with limited material things, the outside was earth’s playground as her legs carried her across the ground. The parents of this child fought out of their childhood poverty implanting work ethics and honesty. The father a hard working union man and uncles that worked the union car assembly line, American made was the only way. The mother of this child could do anything, often-remodeling rooms and even roofing homes to help flip homes for resale. So this became this girl child’s dreams, if her mother and her grandmother could do anything with nothing and transform those things around them than this girl child could change the world; after all she was of this Southern stock of strong women. The idea of being a woman did not make you less than, it just meant you had to work harder to get what you wanted, speak louder to be heard and that the beauty of life was internal and would glow within to the outside. “Pretty is as pretty does.” She worked hard even changing her birth certificate to work at a young age, she road her first motorcycle with her older brother and fell in love instantly. She new her parents would never let her ride a motorcycle as it was taboo for a woman to drive a bike and certainly never that dirty word, a Harley Davidson. It was her secret dream to have one all to herself and after all it was American made. Eventually the girl child became a Registered Nurse and she dedicated her life to helping others and the riding days were here and there until the day she had her 2006 Fatboy Harley Davidson custom built and delivered exactly the way she wanted. It took her all over, back roads, cities and Daytona, the wind felt as if the breath of God was on her face and the sun was smiling when she drove. Her favorite partners her husband and older brother often accompanied but it was alone that the stress of life rolled of her shoulders and a peace came over her. It was all to change in the blink of an eye.
On May 20, 2006 a sunny, beautiful day, a day that turned into a most turbulent and murky time one might have, the most precious and most prized possession she owned was lost, ripped away and it was as if it would never be found and certainly not replaced.
The day that became a time in her life that would be the most challenging, one that would take the most courage to face, one that would make her wonder why and ask the Almighty why did you save me for this?
One assured reality; the sun no longer visited this woman and the part of her that would never betray her as she remembered it carrying her across miles, vanished. The days filled with loving family and surrounded by nurses her very own peers, you would think she was complete and grateful; but the painful loneliness descend her deeper as she realized even this was altered. The part that was stolen and tossed way as if it were a scrap for a stray dog in a sinister ally was not the only insult. The ally we all dread but never speak about now became her living agony. Her dreams in a dumpster and hopes lost.
As the doctors walked in she was alone for some odd reason as seldom was she left, but like that day she seldom rode alone there she was alone on the road twisted and mangled twenty five feet from her long desired dream. This day eight of them came in to speak with her, “We have to take it, and we can not save it. You will never use it again.”
She thought, what do you mean, you can’t save it? I save lives, save me! Then one asked, “How do you feel about this?” She looked up and over as the nurse caring for her wept in silence, “What do you want me to say?” she said and turned away. The left at quickly as the came in and anguish welled up as she picked the phone up to tell the loving family they would strip her of existence and she had to say yes. As the days went into nights and surgery after surgery the certainty of this woman’s life changing so irrevocably was emerging into a repulsive reality. This certainty was hers to endure ever day carried her further down this sinister desolate ally.
The days went by and they sent her home, to a home with stairs unclimbable, to a bathroom unusable to a hospital bed in a room she never slept and a bedside commode to help her they said. As her mother came daily to clean and help out of kindness, the reality reminded her of yet another handicap. She thought she comprehend handicapped she was a nurse and her brother had been paralyzed for years. The real reality is she never viewed him for it was this older brother that saved her from bully’s in school and walked after eight horrifying years in a wheel chair and road a trike forcing his body to do as it was commanded even if the walker steadied and his muscles yelped this she never saw. She only saw her hero since childhood. How little she discerned about his challenge until the wheel chair she was in ripped woodwork off and she struggled to balance to wash her hands and find a bathroom that she did not have to battle to get into a challenge she never recognized. How real her ignorance became and his stamina to transform his life, was not because he was handicapped, not him, it was his inner strength and perseverance. She knew healthy men who were the real handicapped. The more she reflected about what he overcame the more anguished powerless she felt. I cannot do this, I cannot live disfigured.
The pain became profound and cavernous as she stared down to a leg that was almost gone now. That 357 revolver she had bought years ago had a friend in the chamber that would release this anguish and bitter pain but the steps were now her unclimable enemy; for up in that safe room next to her sheltering soft bed that pistol rested. Unreachable, unattainable just like the life she now was inflicted with.
Finally one day she went to the specialist, with hope he might make her walk again and return the precious life that was stolen. But like the other days that the sinister ally was filled with it to became the reality, like one more long trudge through hopes, dreams sent crashing to the ground. The rage and tears grew more as this failed and that pistol called out but still unreachable as unreachable as the dream of walking and that ally became longer and lonelier. The days with this specialist were spent in a cold back closet room filled with mirrors as a constant remind her of what was stolen and the pain screamed back the reality she had to have and reminder her of what was stripped away. The looks from strangers briefly and looking away as if they too could be mangled. Then as if the wind carried her grieve a phone call from a stranger came, and gave her a number of a legman and this one she called the miracle worker one who would help. She knew him, as her precious father had been in this sinister ally after a horrible farming accident.
So the day came and she went to see this man broken and hurting. As she came in to the office kind and compassionate people at the desk smiled and looked at her, they did not stare at her or look away as if the curse would leap upon them. They smiled and led her to an open airy room without the hateful mirrors that laughed at her. The legman came in smiling and talked this talk and he assured her she would walk again if she agreed to let him help her. She thought quietly and said that’s what the others said too. But she thought, if I could walk even a little the revolver would be reachable and that was sufficient hope. So she went back and they casted and made molds and they came back two hour later and she put the leg on and stood up and asked not once but twice, “Is it on?” “Are you sure?” and she walked without crutches and the ripping excruciating pain that had kept her down the ally of hell. He smiled and said yes it’s on and she walked up the hallway without anything, smiling and feeling as if a precious gift was given back.
So I would ask, “How do you thank a man who gave you back your life?” “How do you thank a man who gave you a most prized possession the gift to walk?” “How do you thank a man who’s kindness and compassion were so real and genuine that you new with no shadow of a doubt that God could not be everywhere so he imparted his gifts on this man.”
When she left this stranger a hope for life not for a gun began to materialize. So she went to see her bike and she sat on Skully and she cried. Could it be possible could they fix her so that she would ride again? How much would it take? The skilled hands began to restore Skully as the legman had restored her. Even the parts counter-helping pick the Tombstone taillight, for if God spared her life than she would ride above the Tombstone as a Godly victory, to the motorcycle boots that were lost with her leg. So wonderful was Cookie she took her prosthetic leg and shoved it in boots till one fit without flinching. From there she left to go home and ride with her husband on the back of his Road glide. It was a cold day so she downed her leathers to find them huge from weight loss after surgery. She cried not my leathers too? But her husband encouraged her to take them to the leather experts; after all they had customized them maybe they can fix them. She hoped because she had worn them over 15 years. There she met more kindness and compassion and they modified her leathers to fit and applied the patch crashing sucks right below that left knee. They custom fit protective leather that would protect the liner of her prosthetic leg sending her with a hug and wishing her well.
Is this radical, if you think this is extreme than you do not know me. As the times I walked into places and met strangers asking for help, the snooty looks were people walked away at fancy stores in search of jeans to the Goth and skater stores, that never hesitated and helped without a flinch. You could not feel my desolate pain and you have never gone down the sinister ally of hell that felt as if there was no return and felt that God had abandon you. You may have lost many things in your life but until you lose a limb, you have never lost your self. I have, in a motorcycle accident, with that I lost everything in a moment in a blink of an eye it was gone I forever I thought and then God sent strangers like, Ray McKinney, who is he? The legman that gave life back. He not only gave me the ability to walk when others could not but he gave me back the will to not just go on but the ability to want to live. Andrew Connelly of PT Plus who works my good leg and my 2/3rds leg to rehab my next life endeavor with kindheartedness and care. Others like, Racine Harley and there fabulous staff, they gave me hope that I would drive again and are modified Skully and repairing her so when I am strong enough I will ride her again. Cookie who helped me with boots and that’s not easy with a prosthetic leg. Kelly’s leathers that altered my leathers and made a custom protector for my prosthetic leg with attention to detail and thought.
At the emptiest time in my life God sent kind hearted, compassionate and caring people not just my family but also those that were essentially strangers when I needed it most. He did not do it through angels or agencies. He used ordinary people doing extraordinary goodness to help a biker so that she can drive her bike again. He used life’s tribulations for one to challenge others to reach beyond there comfort zone and help a Registered nurse, a daughter, a mother, a wife, oh I almost forgot, a biker. I will be forever grateful to all my family and all of the strangers who have touched my life and I look so forward to my adventures on Skully, something that I thought I would never do, but God used not just my family but strangers to tell me, I can. I rode her again Christmas 2006.

Re: Re: Bikers worst nightmare

I hope that someone who is hearing the same argument in their ears reads this; that is, the argument between the voice on the left that says, "You will survive, and live" and the one on the right that says, "I can make the pain stop. It'll only take a second to make this all go away."

Excedrin headache #357 is curable before the fact, but not after.