Being a new trail, I wasn’t screaming down the trail, but I
was going fairly fast. As flew down the trail I came to what appeared to be a regular
turn—it wasn’t. Just as I got to the top
of the turn, I saw three large root drops through the entire turn. There is
that moment in mountain biking when you know you are going to crash, and there
is nothing you can do but hope it turns out well, and not horribly bad. This
was one of those moments. I slowed down as much as possible and went in to the
turn very haphazardly. I almost made it, but then I got bucked from my bike
spilling over the top tube, and part of my handle bars off to the side. I
started to put my hands out to catch me, and realized that was not a good idea,
so luckily, I buckled them as I went to the ground. I ended up landing on both
knees.
I gingerly got on my bike, and continued on down the trail eventually
making it to my car. The pain was real, and there was a lot of wincing as I drove
home. My obvious injuries, the ones you could see, were to my knees and legs—scrapes,
swelling and bruises. Although these injuries hurt, and cause me to wince; what
hurts the most is what you can’t see. Somehow the entire right side of my body
took the brunt of the accident. My shoulder, ribs and neck also got injured. You
can’t see the injury, but I can feel it. I can hardly lift my arm, it hurts to
laugh, quick movements are not possible, and looking up or turning my head is
painful. Sleeping last night was somewhat a struggle due to the pain.
Last night as I perused Facebook, I noticed several posts
regarding suicide. It brought up past memories I prefer to leave in the past,
but as I saw some of the posts, I realized perhaps sharing my experience maybe would
help others.
A week after my birthday, and two weeks before I had my
first child my mom took her life. We were not close, but it affected me and
tore me apart for a period of time. She did not do it in the manner most women
take their life. No, she got a gun and killed herself. The day she killed
herself she called and talked to me on the phone. To my knowledge I am the only
person she talked to before she took her life. I had no idea of what she was
planning, but I often wondered if I could have done or said something different
in that conversation that would have changed her mind. I know now there was
nothing I could have done or said at that time. Sometimes we cannot stop what
for another seems to be the inevitable. But we can hopefully make a difference or
provide them with hope so maybe it will not be the inevitable action they need
to take.
Today, when you look at me, you can see the scrapes, the
bruises, and the marks from my mountain bike ride. What you cannot see is what
is causing the most pain. Those injuries are deep, those injuries hurt the
most, and kept me up most of the night. With time the pain will dissipate, and
I will be hundred percent, but it will take me caring for myself, and if necessary,
applying or getting the right treatment for my injuries.
Emotional injuries are not much different. A person can look
fine from the outside and be deep in pain on the inside. Just like with the
physical injuries from my mountain bike accident emotional pain needs to be
treated. We cannot stop the pain of another, but we can help. It does not need
to be great actions. It can be a simple smile, a “how is your day”, a phone
call, a text, just taking a pause to notice that person, to let them know you
know they exist, a simple “hi”. Just in
the case of my mom, or my crash, you may not be able to stop the inevitable, but maybe, just
maybe you can detain it so they can get the help to make the pain dissipate and
go away.
Barbara Jean Griffey Hook
November 1, 1938 - June 20, 1990
