Lesson from Boomer

I hope the thankfulness and gratitude I have for the amazingly supportive group of people helping me throughout my life has been abundantly clear in my writing. As with most people, the type(s) of support needed has really changed over my 40 plus years here among you all, particularly after that fateful night in July of 2006. As I was being dragged through Portsmouth in the pre-dawn hours this fine morning, it struck me how the number of cars I see parked in town has returned to almost pre-pandemic levels. Of course, at Clooney’s usual jarringly early breakfast time there’s barely a vehicle in sight, which resembles the streets at all times for almost a year there during Covid-19. I can’t help but be reminded of the hope for a return to normalcy I always felt on those lonely, barren walks.

Now that I’ve had some time to better process both experiences; first sustaining a severe TBI and being forever altered as a person, then having the world seemingly come to a halt in mass Coronavirus panic, the similarity of the deep longing for familiarity during both times is striking. I often hear about the need for routine being so important for brain injury survivors to aid in memory and provide a sense of comfort. I completely agree with the premise and have firsthand experience with the benefits of routine, but would take it a bit further by saying these positive properties of routine extend to all people. I mean, how many times did you hear a fellow commenting that, “I miss…(some routine activity that had vanished during lockdowns)” over the past almost 3 years?

For some odd reason, the thing that gave me a sense that I’m still Jim, maybe not exactly the same, but still a real person after my injury hit me this morning. Probably least surprising to remember as I walked my loyal pooch, was how instrumental in recovery Boomer, our family’s amazing yellow lab, was to both Andy and I as well as providing a true sense of continuity for the entire family. While I certainly had some innate motivation to get back on my own two feet without any assistive device, probably the strongest fuel that hastened this process was finding myself unable to hold my cane and Boomer’s leash at the same time. As much as I used to complain about it growing up, there really is a huge sense of independence and pride in simply taking your dog for a walk. While that first solo walk with Boomer after my TBI was short and on grass around my parents backyard (to soften any likely stumble), the exhilaration and sense of accomplishment I felt was profound.

It wasn’t only our walks in which Boomer let me know I was a “real” person and still had value, but also just in Boom being his mischievous self. The journey to living independently wasn’t exactly linear. In fact, I recall the move to Portsmouth after 2 years of rehabilitation and parentally assisted living (thanks Mom and Dad) happening very incrementally; with each week small tasks like filling my pill case, laundry, and even changing sheets and towels done for me. It was tough not to feel like a burden with my guilt from my crash intensified by seeing the difficulty I caused others.

But back to Boomer’s role in making me feel whole again. One of the first post-injury jobs I had was in an office just a block away from my home in Portsmouth. My short lunch break would consist of my quickly walking Boomer, assembling and then inhaling a sandwich, and then “resting my eyes” for a few minutes before returning to the office. On one particular day after bringing Boomer out I began to make a sandwich when the thought that, “Some mustard would be nice on this turkey” crossed my mind. I quickly thought that it may be a risky move to leave my unattended lunch on the counter as I returned to the fridge with my known food thief pooch in the room, but after seeing Boom lounging on his pillow, with the thought that he’d aged out of his thievery, I made my move.

With the sound of a shattering plate just seconds after I moved to the fridge, Boomer’s main message to me was clear: “Even though you may be different than before, life goes on and you’re still eligible to be a part of.” I remember being a little frustrated and may have even called my mom to complain, but with the frustration came an odd sense of calm in knowing Boomer still saw me as a potential target, so I must be ok!