The Fall

A beautiful day...somewhat windy, but it wasn't going to deter me from getting bedding plants and having fun, digging in the dirt. Anticipating the afternoon's activities, I bounced down my front steps without paying attention to the wire I stake my dog out with. I felt it wrap around my foot, and for a brief second before I felt myself hurtle into space and slam onto my knees on the sidewalk, I had one clear, lucid thought. "Shit."


The fall seemed to take forever. The landing jarred my teeth and the pain shot through me like a knife. I rolled to a sitting position and held my knees, eyes closed, cursing a blue streak. I opened my eyes and stared at the knobs under my jeans. I was alone and afraid. So afraid. The "what ifs" began to parade through my head: What if I'd busted my kneecaps? What if I needed to go to the emergency room? What if I needed surgery? What if I couldn't walk? What if I couldn't work? Who would take care of me?


Gradually I became aware of a white construction truck that had pulled up to the curb. A man yelled out of the window, "Are you OK? I saw you fall...do you need help?" I wanted to be brave and wave him on. I didn't want to be needy and pathetic. But it hurt, oh, so much.


"I don't know," I yelled back. "I don't know."

He came up to me, stopping within a few feet. A nice-looking man about my age, with gentle eyes and a concerned look on his face. "Do you need help to stand?" he asked. "Yes, I'll let you help me," I finally said.


Grasping my wrists, he pulled me steadily to my feet, waited while I got my balance, then let go. I tested my legs. It hurt, but I could move. I could walk. I told him I thought I'd be alright.


"I'm Tom," he said, and pointed to his truck, which had the name of his construction company on the side. "If you need help, you can call." I thanked him, profusely, and assured him I'd be fine. There's no way I'd call him, a stranger, to come back and help me. Still, I memorized the name on the truck. After waiting until I limped up the steps and sat in my rocker on the porch, he drove off, with me waving and smiling bravely. Then I slowly went inside.


That's when the tears came.


Tears because I had fallen, to be sure, but mostly tears because Tom had shown me compassion. And because he was a man. And he was strong. And made me feel safer and less vulnerable. And I miss having that in my life. I don't want to admit it, but now that I have, does it make me any less independent?