on sunday, april 22, 2012, i stood atop Mulholland Drive, above Bel Air, in southern california. looking out over the city, there was nothing. no hills. no homes. no trees. no city. no landscape. there was only white. a thick fog had descended, and what normally is an inspiring view had been masked by moisture. the lush, green portrait of possibilities to my aspiring mind had been replaced by a blank canvass. the whole world from my vantage point had become a question mark. if i’d never stood there before, never seen for miles into that distance, i would’ve had no clue as to what extended beyond me. and i thought– this is how the future looks. there is a destiny, a destination, there are choices, things, circumstances, places, people; but we can see none of them. tomorrow is a fog. so is an hour from now. when you’re having brain surgery. when you’re feeling fine but only an hour away from a hemorrhage. when you’re sitting on the couch. when you’re in your car. when you’re sad. when you’re not. when your world seems bleak but there is goodness waiting. we are constantly about to turn the page, never knowing what will unfold in the story of our lives. for better or worse.
early in my life, i had no idea i’d end up living in california. i never dreamed i’d be writing over a network that reaches every corner of the globe. but here i am. and here you are, reading it. who knew we’d be right here, right now?
and right now, for me, is april 29th, 2012. exactly one year since my brain surgery. as i continue to look into my past, my life, starting from the beginning, i’m also struck by my bizarre existence over the last little while, and by the recent whirlwind of life experiences which have carried me to this moment, on this anniversary. i didn’t know if i would make it this far. one year ago, i lay on a table, as vulnerable as anyone can possibly be. a knife awaited me. my head would be punctured and explored. a portion of my skull would be cut out, removed. my brain would be exposed. my life would be in the balance. hanging.
i posted this today on my facebook page, as a commemoration:
today is april 29th, 2012. exactly one year ago today, i entered a hospital in phoenix, arizona, for a complicated and high-risk brain surgery. i had no idea whether i would ever awake from the operation. i had no idea whether my tumor would be found to be cancerous. i had no idea whether i would suffer a stroke, be left blind, or paralyzed, or worse. that was one year ago. and whether my tumor is still growing, whether i have another year ahead of me, i am endlessly thankful for this year of recovery, this year that i wasn’t guaranteed. and i am thankful to everyone who has reached out to me. i invite you all to read my story, at wadeferro.wordpress.com. if you visit me there, please begin at chapter 1 and go forward; i am writing it as a narrative, like a book, as opposed to a collection of disjointed blog entries. i am behind in my writing, but i will update it soon. thank you. life is a stroke of luck for all of us. so far, we are all incredibly lucky, whether things are very easy or extremely difficult. whether we feel as if we’re winning, or losing with flying colors. as the saying goes, “the graveyard is full of indispensable people.” we are here, not because we are needed, but because we are blessed.