Straight Paths- Ships That Don’t Come In

Ships That Don’t Come In

Loren Hardin

     How can I describe Cinda without it sounding like exaggeration? Cinda was tough-minded, determined, untamed, resilient, and downright ferocious at time. But on the flipside, Cinda was passionate, honest, empathetic, and generous. 

     Cinda had type 1 diabetes, also known as juvenile onset diabetes. Cinda was diagnosed before the advancements in diabetic treatment, before insulin pumps with continuous monitoring and insulin dosing. Cinda battled with the disabling and life-threatening complications of diabetes beginning in early childhood. It started with nerve damage and poor blood flow to her feet. Her first amputation was a toe, then her foot, then her lower leg and eventually, as an adult, amputation of both legs above the knees. Cinda had multiple revisions to her stumps, with new prostheses.  Cinda had several brushes with death when her blood sugar levels plummeted. I remember visiting Cinda during her multiple hospitalizations. 

     Cinda and I traveled to Morehead, Kentucky together from 1988 to 1990, to earn our Master of Social Work degrees through the University of Kentucky extension program at Morehead University. I also attended church with Cinda and her mother Susanne. Cinda never married and had no children; therefore, her mother became her caregiver in the final stage of her illness. 

     During one of our late-night trips back home from Morehead Cinda and I were talking about social work theories and theorists. I was reciting some of the theories and quoting the theorists when Cinda interjected, “I know what I’m going to buy you as a graduation present, and empty journal so that you can write down what you think and believe instead of what other people think and believe.” Cinda’s comment reminds me of what Jesus asked Peter: “Who do men say that I, the Son of Man am?” Peter answered, “Some say John the Baptist, some Elijah, and other Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” Then Jesus asked Peter, “But who do you say that I am?” (Matthew 16:13-15) 

     But the thing that Cinda said that impacted me the most was when she exclaimed: “You know, I get sick and tired of hearing people complain about all the things they have to do when there are people who would give anything to be able to do the things, they complain about having to do.” 

     Cinda departed this world for her heavenly home several years ago, but as Ed, another departed friend told me about the death of his son, “The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.” When I tell myself or others about the things that “I have to do”, “That I have to cut the grass”, “That I have to watch our granddaughter”, “That I have to go to the store”, Cinda’s words come back to me and I’m reminded that, “I get to”. 

     “I could tell he had a tough life by the way he sat and stared. And me, I’d come to push and shove so I pulled up a chair. We talked of the roads untraveled; we talked about love untrue, of strings that come unraveled, we were kings and kindred fools. And just when I’d hit the bottom that old man raised his glass, said, ‘At least we’ve had our chances, there’s those who never have’… To those who stand on empty shores and spit against the wind and those who wait forever for ships that done come in. He said ‘it’s only life’s illusion that bring us to this bar, to pick up these old crutches and compare each other’s scars, cause the things we’re calling heartaches, hell they’re hardly worth our time. We bitch about a dollar when there are those without a dime.’” (Ships That Don’t Come In, by Joe Diffie)

     “I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet”—Helen Keller 

     Loren Hardin was a social worker with Southern Ohio Medical Center Hospice for twenty-nine years. You can purchase his book, “Straight Paths: Insights for living from those who have finished the course”, from Amazon.