Footprints

During my military career in Japan, I treated a guy in physical therapy for a torn anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in his knee. If you are unfamiliar, this ligament keeps your tibia in place.

He was an avid judo player in his early 30s, part Japanese, part Hawaiian and very much a martial athlete. He was a big dude, most likely due to Samoan heritage with two huge problems; his knees. He’d spent over 10 years living and training in Japan and would often spend his days in Misawa City’s large judo dojo.

Judo had become his life and his identity. It was practically all he did except for the civilian job he held on the military base. He tore his left ACL a year before we met, and blew the other one out shortly after returning to the sport.

He never stopped training and competing. Before the surgery for the right knee, he would actually wrap his leg with a bicycle inner tube to keep it together. ACL surgeries were a much bigger deal back then, still kind of a new procedure. The surgeon told him if he attempted to go back and compete, he could sustain permanent damage and probably be on a cane for the rest of his life.

Knowing he could never practice judo at the same level, he simply left the sport and martial arts all together. We talked a lot and I tried to persuade him to consider coaching or maybe even train in another style, like karate. All of that experience, knowledge and dedication could be used in a new way, a shared way, if you will. But his mind was set. If he couldn’t do judo the way he always had, he would not do anything at all.

Funny how life tends to play out like this for a lot of people.

During the 10 years I worked as a therapist in a nursing home, I occasionally encountered people who lost their spouses early in life, typically in their 50s and 60s. I suppose some of us feel that there is no return after losing your husband or wife.

It makes sense; we spend 20 or more years with somebody and that person becomes a part of our identity along with our children, our friends and other family. And, much like my judo friend, a lot of widows and widowers feel that once they have loved somebody like that, there is no return once that person is gone. Unfortunately, I can relate. Watching my wife slowly pass away nearly killed me. Believe me, you don’t understand a statement like that unless you’ve been through it.

That pain never goes away. It comes back sometimes with a familiar fragrance, a trip past our old house…the mention of her name.

After she died, my plan was to find an old trailer deep in the woods somewhere and spend the rest of my days alone, doing kata and hitting things. No people, no chance to have my heart obliterated again.

But loneliness has its own demons and despite the initial pangs of guilt, I decided to start dating. I really just wanted to talk to somebody, but there was a part of me that wanted to get my life back. I wanted things to be the same…normal. I had this huge, gaping wound and I wanted to fix it. I’m sure many people in my situation have had similar feelings. There is a comfort in the day-to-day living with someone. You get up, go to work Monday through Friday so you can have Friday through Sunday to spend together. The same dinners, the same wine (because you both like it), the same movie you’ve seen countless times because you both saw it on “date night” that first year of marriage. You find yourself bored at times, but it’s a nice kind of bored. It’s called contentment. Look around. Contentment is pretty rare these days.

But I found some things out when I started to open myself to the possibility of being with someone else. There are a number of women out there who could not or would not share some heart space with my late wife. Believe it or not, I read as much on some dating profiles. I met a woman who lost her husband to brain cancer and had similar experiences with the men she dated. She and I had some great conversations. A common theme was that the people we met were typically divorced and angry. There was an expectation to be different and to “let go of the past.” Before going our separate ways, we both decided to find someone for ourselves who was willing to share some space with the people we lost.

It’s really difficult for someone who has not experienced that kind of loss to have the depth of understanding it takes to be with a widow or widower. Divorce is a much different scenario than death. One or both parties decide to end the marriage because they can’t get along, or perhaps there’s other issues. “Nobody marries a jerk,” a friend once told me. Some times you don’t know what you’re getting into until you are in it.

But I didn’t leave my wife and she didn’t want to leave me. She fought cancer and I fought along side her. She ran the good race, fought the good fight. But we were outgunned and overrun. And while divorce can be painful, death of your life mate early in life is an entirely different ball game.

I needed to find somebody who understood that. Though God’s grace, and I truly believe a nod from Terri, I have. Someone who is not only willing to have Terri’s essence, her footprints throughout the house, but wants to celebrate that life. She realizes, I think, that my sons and I are the men we are because of the woman Terri was. I needed to be with someone who was content with the person I have grown to be because of my marriage, not in spite of it.

Most people genuinely want to understand, but at best all they can do is sympathize. It’s like trying to understand why a combat vet can’t seem to cut it in the real world. We sympathize, we try to help. But a lot of folks who have never lived through that trauma eventually ask the question, “Why can’t that person just move on?”

There is no “moving on.” There is “living with” or not living at all. I choose the former. Life will never be the same. But I have found some one to share the rest of it with me. And in the process, she too leaves footprints throughout the house and within my heart.

Thank you, Father, for undeserved grace. Thanks, “Hun" for taking care of me as always.

Dave Magliano

Tatsu Dojo

Jisssenkan Budo

Dojo Cho