Free Joni by Joni Eareckson Tada Page B

instructed my family on how a quadriplegic should ride in a car.
    “It never occurred to me that just riding in a car is dangerous,” I said, adding, “unless, of course, we crash.”
    “You don’t have to be in a wreck to get hurt,” Joe cautioned. “You see, a quad can’t sit up alone. If the car swerves, stops suddenly, or just turns a corner, you’ll be carried by momentum. You’ll spill—maybe crack your head on the door or smash your face on the dashboard or windshield, if you’re sitting up front.” He explained how to use the car’s shoulder harness to strap me in but also cautioned to be aware of holding on to me, especially on turns, starts, and stops.
    Nothing happened on the way home, although the drive seemed exciting and full of interesting little pleasures. It’s winter now, I thought. Two whole seasons have slipped by since I was home.
    “Well, we’re almost there now,” observed Jay as the car turned at the familiar triangle intersection. I looked up the street—the high school, the house of my piano teacher, the drugstore—everything as I remembered it. A twinge of homesickness swept over me.
    In a few minutes, we had driven up the steep avenue in front of my folks’ home and pulled into the driveway in back. Dad and Jay gingerly lifted me from the car and carried me inside.
    The feelings of homesickness were real by now. The house was decorated for the holidays, and a big, fragrant pine tree had been set up in the dining room where I was to stay.
    Mom had somehow obtained a hospital bed and set it up in the dining room. I thought of my old room, just above this one, keeper of so many of my secret thoughts, prayers, and hopes. Of course, my family couldn’t carry me up the narrow, twisting staircase to my old room so, for this one day, the dining room would be my room.
    Mom had pushed the huge dining room table alongside the wall to make the room more comfortable. Dad must have known when he built the house that we’d entertain a lot, for the room was huge—two or three times the usual dining room size, abouteighteen by twenty-five feet—with a large table able to seat fourteen with ease.
    A crackling fire in the stone fireplace, beautiful and fragrant Christmas decorations, candles, and lights filled the room with happiness. It was almost too much for my senses. The smells, sights, and sounds were intoxicating. During my hospital stay and confinement at Greenoaks, my spirit had suffered as well as my body, for my spirit had suffered sensory deprivation. Now the room reeled as all of these sweet sensations assaulted my brain in a feast of pleasure.
    I was able to sit up only a little while before tiring, so the hospital bed proved useful. I half-sat and half-lay on the bed. Dressed in the suit and blond wig, I looked “almost human,” but I was still self-conscious about my appearance. Especially my legs. It seemed to me they were sticking out awkwardly, disgustingly.
    “Please, will you cover me, mom?” I asked.
    “Are you cold, dear?”
    “No. I just want to be covered. I look awful.”
    “Nonsense,” she replied. “You look lovely. Doesn’t she, Jay?”
    “Of course,” answered my sister.
    “But I still want to be covered. Bring that brown blanket and put it over my legs. I don’t want people coming over to stare. Please!” I was insistent.
    “All right, Joni. As you wish,” sighed mom, as she spread the blanket over my legs and tucked it in. The real reason I wanted my legs covered wasn’t because others would be offended by my useless limbs. Rather, it was because they were a constant reminder to me of how different this Christmas was. I couldn’t bear to look at them.
    Dick, along with friends and family, came to visit that day, and the time rushed by. At first, I resented this swift passage of time. Then I was grateful, because as my mind recalled former Christmases, I was saddened and depressed at the changes in my life.
    No more could I spontaneously run