the call i didn’t see coming

the other day, i walked into the gym with that familiar mix of dread and determination—the kind that sits heavy in your chest when you’re trying to rebuild something that was taken from you. i’ve failed out of physical therapy three separate times now, not because i didn’t try, not because i didn’t want to heal, but because my body simply couldn’t complete what was being asked of it. each time it felt like a quiet defeat—like my body was trying to tell me truths i didn’t want to face.

so when they recommended i try rehabbing myself slowly at the gym, in my own time, at my own pace, i told myself: why not? maybe gentleness is the only thing my body will accept right now. maybe this is what healing looks like when the traditional paths don’t fit.

as i was sitting there between machines—my body already reminding me where it hurts and where it fears movement—i was on the phone with my mom, trying to figure out when we could get together for dinner. just a normal conversation, nothing heavy, nothing complicated. then my attorney’s call came through.

normally, i don’t reach out to him much. i let him handle things in his world while i survive mine. but i hadn’t heard from him in a while, and i had tried to call him recently. so seeing his name pop up on my screen felt like a small jolt of electricity. i hung up and answered the call.

he’s a good man—steady, professional, but human in the ways that matter. he speaks to me like a person, not a case file. we talked for a moment, and then, suddenly, there it was… the sentence that shifted the air around me:
“we have an offer.”

time didn’t just slow—it fractured for a moment. i sat perfectly still in the middle of that gym, surrounded by the clatter of weights and the rhythm of machines, and it felt like the world quieted around me.

we talked details—numbers, what it meant legally, what it meant for my future. those conversations never feel real, because they force you to look at your own body from the outside. they make you say out loud what has changed, what might never come back, what you’ll carry from this injury long after the checks and signatures disappear.

the future of my body.
that phrase echoed in me long after he said it.

he walked me through every angle, every question, every possibility. he didn’t rush me. he didn’t push me. he guided me, steadied me, and helped me make a decision that still felt surreal as the words left my mouth.

by the end of the call, we agreed.
we made a choice together.

a day i didn’t expect.
a moment i didn’t see coming.
an ending near—not to my pain, not to the healing work ahead—but to the relentless battle of workman’s comp that has been hanging over me like a storm cloud for far too long.

tonight, i sat beside my wife in the quiet. the kind of quiet that exists only between two people who have weathered storms side by side. the room felt still, the air softer somehow. and in that gentleness, i asked her if she thought i had done the right thing.

her answer was immediate—yes. her reassurance came like a hand pressed over my heart, steady and warm. she reminded me that sometimes we don’t get to choose the path, only how we walk it. and she let me know she is proud of me for how i have walked mine, even when everything felt uncertain.

life throws curveballs—sharp, sudden, and often unfair. this one cracked something open in me. not in a painful way, but in a way that let a little more light in. this offer doesn’t erase what happened to my body. it doesn’t undo the pain or the limitations. but it gives me something i haven’t had in a long time—something i wasn’t sure i’d ever feel again.

hope.

not the naïve kind.
the quiet, grounded kind.
the kind that says:
maybe there is a way forward after all.

and for the first time in months, i am letting myself believe it.

with ink & bloom, 🌻