The Choice

‘“My mama told me something I will never forget,” I began. “She said, ‘We don't know where we're going, we don't know what's going to happen, but no one can take away from you what you put in your own mind.'”‘

“And here you are. Here you are! In the sacred present. I can't heal you—or anyone—but I can celebrate your choice to dismantle the prison in your mind, brick by brick. You can't change what happened, you can't change what you did or what was done to you. But you can choose how you live now.”

“This is the work of healing. You deny what hurts, what you fear. You avoid it at all costs. Then you find a way to welcome and embrace what you're most afraid of. And then you can finally let it go.”

‘Today I have been assigned two new patients, both Vietnam veterans, both paraplegics. They have the same diagnosis,...the same prognosis...I meet Tom first. He's lying on his bed, curled up in a fetal position, cursing God and country. He seems imprisoned—by his injured body, by his misery, by his rage. When I go to the other vet's room, I find Chuck out of bed and sitting in his wheelchair. “It's interesting,” he says. “I've been given a second chance at life. Isn't it amazing?”‘