Story Two
True Grit
September 28, 2021
There is a Yiddish word I cannot pronounce,"tzebrokhnkayt," which means"the quality of broken-heartedness that gives strength in healing." Its essence means that"we carry our shattered pieces with us." The essential bit is that tzebrokhnkayt is not something that needs quick fixing; it is instead honored. It means that we are obligated to gather up, tend to and keep the pain while taking up the work of healing.
"Just after the explosion, I saw my mother's face. It was not God or Jesus reaching out to save me. It was her love that saved me in the final moment."
-David
On my second Lyft driving day, I picked up a US Army veteran at the VA Hospital. I watched him as he was wheelchair riding up to my car. To my surprise, he then stood up. He looked at me smiling while struggling to take a step forward. I wanted to help him, but I stopped myself. It was clear he wanted to navigate getting into my car himself. So, he did.
M: Hello there, David! Where are we headed today?
P: I am visiting my sister's house for a few days. It is a kind of experiment. My doctors want to see how I handle going out on my own. Dr. Schelling wants to know if I have any grit left in me. Ha Ha.
M: Well, you look like you have plenty of grit left.
P: Yeah, maybe I am just gritty to the bone? I have had seven surgeries in the last four years. An IED exploded under my armored vehicle. It messed me up all right nearly lost this leg. My left hand was too badly damaged to save. Now I have a robotic hand.
M: Like the Six Million Dollar man on 1970s TV! Sorry, I am betraying my age.
P: Well, maybe not six million. Still alive and kicking. Hey, I have heard of that TV show. It is still on cable TV, I think.
M: We are lucky to have you back, David. Thanks for your service.
P: You're welcome. My mom is the one with grit. She was the one that kept me going through all this. I was trained well as a soldier, but she taught me how to fight.
P: I watched her fight her last battle behind a Goddamn glass wall. She was so brave. She looked at me with such overwhelming love and grace. I kept trying to rise out of my wheelchair. I wanted to hug her the way she hugged me when I returned from Iraq. One of the last things she told me was to keep fighting, God is right beside you, and I will be beside God. I never bought into much of the God stuff. I sure believed in her. And when she passed, I needed help.
P: I still had a bunch of battles f
