by Patrick Gray
The first time we met, I was wearing shorts and my calf-high braces were clearly visible, so it was obvious there was something wrong with my legs.
“Don’t we go to the same church?” I asked. I think she thought it was some sort of pickup line, but at least it got the conversation started. After we talked for a few minutes, I smiled and said, “Well, I’ll see you around.”
The next week, I saw her again—at church. And a few days after that, I was delivering an ad I had designed for a taco shop, and she jogged right past me.
That’s the third time I’ve seen this girl in less than two weeks, I thought. Maybe I should ask her out.
So I did.
And she said yes!
On our first date, we went to Casa de Pico in Old Town San Diego. I started the evening by saying, “I have a progressive neuromuscular disease, and I don’t know how much time I have left, but I thought you should know about it up front.”
There. It’s out there. Let’s see how she responds.
She paused for a second. “Oh.”
I held my breath, bracing for the inevitable awkwardness. Instead, the corners of her mouth turned up into a warm smile, and she simply said, “Okay.”
That’s when I knew.
She was the one.
| | |
“Honey, could you come here please?”
“What’s up?” Kirstin asks as she walks in from the kitchen.
“I want to show you something,” I say, nodding my head toward the TV.
She sits on the sofa next to me. “What’s this?” she asks. “Rick Steves?”
“Just watch for a minute,” I say. Kirstin knows I’m always looking for new places we can explore together. It’s one of the ways we’ve learned to deal with my disease over the years—grabbing every opportunity to make the most of life while I’m still able.
“What do you think?” I ask when the episode ends.
“What do you mean?”
“I wonder if I could do that in my wheelchair?”
She looks at me and without the slightest pause, says, “Why not? If it’s something you want to do, then do it!”
This is one of the many things I love about my wife. No matter how crazy my ideas may be, no matter how unrealistic they seem, she never lets me shy away from pursuing them.
Now the only question is, What will Patrick think?
| | |
Two weeks later, Patrick, Donna, and their kids, Cambia, Joshua, and Olivia, arrive at our house for our annual get-together.
“They’re here!” my kids shout as the Grays pull into the driveway in their minivan. After hugs are distributed all around and the luggage is deposited in the bedrooms, the kids run off to the backyard to blow off some pent-up energy, and Donna and Kirstin retreat to the dining room to catch up on each other’s lives.
“Let’s head into the living room,” I say to Patrick. “There’s something I want to show you.”
He smiles and follows me into the other room. As he takes a seat on the chair next to me, he reaches over and places the television remote in my lap.
I click the power button and begin searching for the Rick Steves episode I recorded.
I’m wondering how Patrick will respond. We’ve both had some pretty wild ideas over the years, but going almost five hundred miles in a wheelchair through a foreign country is definitely at the top of the crazy scale.
I start the episode, and we watch in silence. I keep glancing over at Patrick, trying to get a feel for what’s going through his mind. I can tell he’s interested, but clearly he has no idea what I’m about to ask.
When the show finally ends, I turn off the TV and get right to the point.
“So, do you want to go across five hundred miles of northern Spain with me?”
Patrick just stares back at me. For all the years I’ve known him, this is one of the few times in our lives when I haven’t been able to read him.
Is he in or is he out?
Do I even know what I am asking of him?
We’ve had so many adventures in the past, but nothing like this.
I don’t know if what I’m asking is even possible, but I do know this—I can’t imagine attempting it with anyone else.
When he finally opens his mouth to speak, he utters the three words that will change the course of our lives.
“I’ll push you.”
4TIME OFF
— PATRICK —
JUNE IS A BEAUTIFUL month in Meridian, Idaho. The sky is often bright blue, and the grass is brilliant green. Sprinklers run, flowers are in bloom, and folks spend many hours outdoors, basking in the sun.
Today is no exception. A light breeze counters the heat as my kids run through the playground of Kleiner Park. Some of my coworkers’ children vie for a spot on the monkey bars while others play a game of tag with my oldest daughter, Cambria. A lanky eight-year-old, her long blonde hair trails behind her as my four-year-old son, Josh, struggles to match her long strides. Olivia, three, is in my wife’s arms. She has adjusted well to life in America since her adoption from China, but big crowds still make her nervous. Life in the Chinese orphanage wasn’t easy, and Donna’s arms are the one place she always feels safe.
Donna makes small talk with a few new acquaintances as more people from my team at St. Luke’s Hospital show up with their families. We’ve come for a break from the workday pressures and some well-earned leisure time at this late-spring barbecue. My boss, Ed, arrives with his family, and I see him walking toward the covered park benches where a row of coolers and dishes full of food now sit.
I have worked for Ed for the past two years, and he is no stranger to stories about my adventures with Justin. When I first met him, he had just taken over from a previous administrator and I was approaching a week of vacation. Trying to get to know his new employees, Ed asked me what I had planned for my time off.
“I’m flying down to San Diego to spend the week with my best friend, Justin, to give his wife a break and help out.”
“A break?” he asked, curious. “What are you helping out with exactly?
“They have three kids,” I explained, “and Justin is in a wheelchair.”
“Like a manual wheelchair?”
“No, a power wheelchair. He can’t use his hands or legs.”
“So you’re going down to take care of your friend and the three kids while his wife’s away?”
“Yep.”
He seemed intrigued, so I told him the whole story of Justin’s disease. Over the next two years, he inquired frequently about Justin and became very familiar with our relationship.
When he sees me across the park, he makes eye contact and nods hello.
The smell of ribs and pulled pork rises from the grill. As I walk over to check the progress of the meat, I notice a young man in the distance in a wheelchair. It’s been a little over a year since Justin first asked me about the trek through Spain. We’ve revisited the idea and talked about how it might come together, but the right time just hasn’t revealed itself. Maybe there will never be a right time, just a right mind-set.
I look at the man in the wheelchair and think about my best friend. How often has Justin just pulled the trigger on what many would shy away from? Don’t get me wrong—he isn’t reckless; he plans out what needs to happen. But he’s not the sort that focuses on how something will happen. He always starts with the why. If the why is strong enough, the how will come together.
Currently, Justin is 5,500 miles across the Atlantic Ocean in a medieval town in northwest Tuscany. He and Kirstin wanted their kids to experience the beautiful culture they’d embraced on their honeymoon many years before. So, while I’m at this picnic, Justin and his family are living in Lucca, Italy. It took them a year of planning, selling off possessions, working extra hours, and renting out their home to make it happen, but their why was important enough to make the sacrifice.
I walk to where my daughter is now pushing my son on the swings. Ed is standing close by,
chatting with Becca, one of my good friends and coworkers. As their conversation comes to a close, I take the opportunity to bend Ed’s ear.
“Ed, I have a quick question.”
“Sure,” he says, scanning the playground. “What’s up?”
“I need six weeks off next summer,” I say nonchalantly.
Ed’s head snaps to attention. “All at once?” he asks.
“Yep!”
His eyes narrow. “That’s going to be tough. What do you have planned?”
I begin to fill Ed in on the story behind the Camino de Santiago and Justin’s desire to tackle the challenge this pilgrimage represents. As the words continue to come out of my mouth, I recognize the power that exists in speaking them out loud. Suddenly, this idea has a life it didn’t have before. What was once simply an idea is now a possibility.
As Ed listens intently, his expression begins to turn from concern and apprehension to excitement and joy, and he nods his head as he processes his response.
When I finally stop talking, Ed looks me in the eye, and pointing his finger at my chest, says, “I will do everything in my power to get you the time off—on one condition.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Promise me you’ll do everything in your power to document this journey on film.”
Confused and a bit blindsided, I respond, “Okay . . . why?”
“Because,” Ed states emphatically, “to not document it would be selfish and irresponsible! There’s too much hope in this to not share it. The world needs to know hope like this exists!”
I didn’t see that coming. I’ve been so focused on what this trip would mean to Justin and me, it never occurred to me it might mean something to anyone else. And yet the look on Ed’s face speaks volumes.
Now where are we going to get a film crew?
As Ed turns his attention to his kids, I retreat to the picnic tables, sit down next to Donna, and take Olivia in my arms.
“I have the time off for Spain,” I say.
Stunned, Donna replies, “What?”
“I just asked Ed for six weeks off next summer, and he agreed on the condition that we try to film the journey.”
“That’s crazy, but awesome!” Donna exclaims. “But why does he want you to film it?”
“He said we would be selfish and irresponsible if we didn’t. He said there’s too much hope in this to not share it.” Then, laughing a little, I add, “He was pretty excited.”
“Well,” she says taking Olivia back, “you guys have waited long enough to do this. Sounds like you need to call Justin.”
The next morning, Donna and I place a Skype call to Justin and Kirstin.
“Hey, you two,” Donna opens the conversation. “How are things going?”
“You should see Justin on the cobblestone streets,” Kirstin laughs.
Justin shakes his head and chuckles, “They’re not very forgiving on my wheelchair. The 375 pounds of metal, rubber, plastic, and electronics vibrate so much I feel like dice in a Yahtzee cup.”
“Are people getting used to seeing a guy in a power wheelchair yet?” I ask.
“At least they’ve finally stopped pointing and chattering in Italian about the crazy guy in the wheelchair,” Kirstin says, laughing.
“Look at the bright side,” I say. “You’re definitely challenging their opinions about people with disabilities. You gotta love that!”
“Yeah,” Justin says, smiling. “I do get a kick out of it. So, what’s so important that we had to talk today?”
Donna gives my hand a gentle squeeze. I steal a quick glance at her and turn my attention back to Justin.
“Well,” I say, fighting a smile, “when you get back, we need to start planning for Spain!”
He’s clearly taken aback. I’m not sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it.
“What do you mean?”
As I tell him about my conversation with Ed, I can almost sense Justin’s pulse racing through the Skype feed. By the time I get to the end, the smile on his face is a mile wide.
“He has only one condition,” I continue.
“What’s that?” Justin asks.
“Do you know anyone who might be interested in capturing this on film?”
5AS READY AS WE’LL EVER BE
— JUSTIN —
WHEN WE ARRIVE BACK in the States, Patrick’s words are still echoing in my head: “Do you know anyone who might be interested in capturing this on film?”
Amazingly enough, I think I might. Back in college, I knew a guy named Terry Parish, who is now the co-owner of a video agency in San Diego called emota, Inc. Documentaries aren’t really their thing, but I figure it couldn’t hurt to at least ask. So I give Terry a call, and after we get caught up on life, I give him a quick snapshot of what Patrick and I have in mind. Just like Ed, he’s hooked immediately.
A few days later, I’m sitting across from Terry, his business partner, Chris Karcher, and several other members of the emota team in their conference room, telling them about Patrick, our past adventures, the progression of my disease, the Camino, and what we plan to do in the coming months. They are blown away by Patrick’s response to my harebrained idea.
As the energy builds in the room, the excitement in their voices tells me all I need to know.
We’ve found our film crew.
But this is just the beginning. Because Patrick lives in Idaho and I live in California, planning and training for the Camino is going to be a challenge.
For years, Patrick and Donna have joked about how we need to move to Idaho. A recent trip up north was no exception. But this time, after three weeks with the Grays, both Kirstin and I feel a special stirring in our hearts. Even though winters in Idaho are cold and long, we can’t shake the idea of moving. It doesn’t make sense—Kirstin is a SoCal girl through and through, and after twenty-plus years in San Diego, I have become a convert to life in the sun—but it feels right. So we begin to pray.
Several weeks later, the pull toward Idaho has only become stronger, so after talking to our realtor, we Skype with Patrick and Donna.
After a few minutes of catching up, Kirstin nervously poses the question, “Are you sure you guys want us to move to Idaho?”
“Yes!” they exclaim simultaneously.
“Good,” I break in, “because we’re putting our house on the market tomorrow.”
A mere four days later, we receive a full-price offer, and after several weeks of packing and paperwork, the Skeesucks are officially headed to Idaho.
Now the real preparations can begin.
| | |
As we get further into planning for this journey, other challenges begin to present themselves. Our travel expenses alone will be thousands of dollars. Not to mention all the equipment we’re going to need: backpacks, shoes, rain gear, headlamps, sleeping bags, and some type of off-road wheelchair. Now that we’re bringing along a film crew, the costs are mounting. But Patrick and I know we are supposed to do this, so we fight the temptation to get caught up in the how and keep moving forward.
Having studied dozens of topographical maps, read the blogs of many previous pilgrims, and watched numerous videos to get a feel for the terrain, we reach the obvious conclusion that a normal manual wheelchair will not be sufficient for this journey. If I’m going to make it from St. Jean Pied de Port to Santiago de Compostela, I’m going to need a chair that’s lightweight enough for Patrick to push, yet strong enough to get me through three mountain passes and over hundreds of miles of cobblestone streets, rocky paths, gravel roads, and rugged terrain.
So, while Patrick starts his physical training, I hit the computer to set up a website to help us raise money for the trip. Using voice-automated software and my pen and tablet, I find that navigating my computer is difficult but not impossible. I’m grateful for the fingers I can still use.
After several hours of working on our website, I take a break to see if I can find a suitable wheelchair. Every morning, Patrick is
at the gym before work; every night, he is either back at the gym or on the road riding his bike. But no matter how much he trains, there’s no substitute for pushing a wheelchair for miles and days on end. We have to find something that will work.
It isn’t long before I realize there are very few options, but soon I think I’ve discovered what we need—a lightweight, three-wheeled, off-road chair made out of aircraft aluminum, complete with mountain bike tires, disc brakes, and shocks. But it’s eight thousand dollars.
We can’t afford this.
Late in the evening, Patrick swings by my house after one of his workout sessions to get an update on my progress.
“So how’s it coming?” he asks.
“Good,” I tell him, nodding toward my computer screen. “Want to see our website?”
“Yeah, let’s check it out.”
As he leans in to get a closer look, I can see the sweat on his brow and smell the evidence of his hard work. It’s only been a few months, and he is already getting lean. On any given day, he is up hours before me, and his head doesn’t hit the pillow until well after mine.
“Just so you know,” I laugh, “while you’ve been at the gym, I’ve been making it my goal to eat as much as possible.”
“Very funny!” He shakes his head and chuckles. “So how much weight have you lost with your new diet?”
“Not sure, but all my clothes are fitting much looser.”
“Nice work! Every pound will make a difference.”
Turning back to my computer, I say, “Now check this out. I think I might have found a chair.”
Using the stylus, I click the tab for the off-road chair.
“It looks like a three-wheeled baby jogger on steroids,” Patrick says.
“Yeah, it does!”
Patrick puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “You’ve been busy. You’ve been eating super healthy, you’ve lost weight, the website you’ve been designing is complete, you created a Facebook page to help us raise awareness and hopefully some funds, and you’ve found us a chair!” Pointing to the computer screen, he asks, “So how much does this thing cost?”