I was approaching my apartment building in London, Ontario, Canada. I almost made it inside, but an older man came up to me. He asked: “I see you driving around here all the time in your wheelchair, and you seem happy – smiling and motivated. I was just wondering if you could tell me why I should go on living.” I stopped and blinked.
A stranger was asking me for a reason not to commit suicide.
I knew that what I would say next was important. There we were, in my building’s parking lot; the cold biting our ears. I said: “Well, I’m just happy to be alive. I was born without arms and legs, and I have never known anything else.”
A true statement – but I was floundering.
His eyes didn’t change. They had the same dull, pleading glimmer to them that I saw when he approached me. “You know, I travel the world, playing a sport I love. I am at university studying Political Science and French and I have an amazing girlfriend,” I continued. What a ridiculous thing to say.
Now I was just going through the parts of my motivational talk, hoping that this man, whose eyes were demanding a life changing response, would connect with some piece of my story.
It was not happening.
As I tried to talk my way through this, I remembered something a teacher, at one of the schools I have spoken at, told me. She said they overheard in the hall, the week after I spoke, two boys; one couldn’t zip up his jacket. He started to get mad and upset, and his little friend yelled: “Hey! Didn’t you hear what that man in the gym said? If you can’t do something, just try again!”
So I tried again. My window of opportunity was closing. My mind was flashing with images and ideas; I opened my mouth, and said: “I get the chance to speak at a lot of elementary schools. I always ask the students to raise their hand if they have ever asked for help – every hand goes up. Then I ask them to raise their hand if they have ever helped someone – every hand goes up. The feeling I get each time that happens is electric. The entire gym feels it. That’s why you should keep living: to help, and be helped.”
His eyes softened, and he thanked me. I watched him walk away, and I unlocked the door of my building. I don’t know who he is or what happened to him.
But, I know that the boy in the hallway, helped his friend get his coat on that day. He also helped me find the right words, in a parking lot, on another day.
