As I sit here reminiscing more than thirty years later, a big grin comes over my face. Looking at my situation in retrospect, I wonder what my life might have been like had I not been at that place and time on that tragic day in ’69. God must have had a plan for me!

Peace, free love, drugs, and rock and roll were what most of us lived for. I was no exception. I came from a loving family that wanted more for their kids than they had had. Since I was really good at playing the game, I got about anything that I wanted. Add girls, parties, lots of so called undesirable associates, wheels and freedom, and I was a pretty popular guy. I had the world on a string, or so I thought. I loved the attention and used people to get what I wanted. Me, me, me, that’s all I thought about! All this was about to change.

At about 10:30 am on August 19, 1969, I got a wake up call that would be the start of a series of events changing my life forever. This story starts off the night before, when, after 6 weeks of begging, I finally got my father to agree to let me buy a motorcycle.

It was a beauty, a 650 Triumph Bonnaville, that Wayne, a neighbor, had just finished rebuilding. I even talked my dad into paying for it. It took a lot of prying to get my father to make up his mind, and against his better judgment, he let me have…”The Bike”.

I didn’t think it was a problem that his father had died on a motorcycle five years earlier. I never really got to know my grandfather, he lived in California and I lived in Illinois. Even though grandpa had 50 plus years of riding… I was much smarter, and besides…it couldn’t happen to me. I was 19 and invincible! I was selfish and didn’t take into consideration my father’s grief. Dad was not able to say good bye to his father.

Out and about, I wasted no time showing off my latest accomplishment. I picked up my girl friend and we went cruising to all of the in spots. In between Jack in the Box and McDonalds I was pulled over by the cops for having a faulty tail light. I talked my way out of the ticket by telling the policeman that I’d go right home and get it fixed. I really had no intention of doing that, the night was still young and I had more people to impress. Remember, I was cool!

It was a perfect night. The drive-ins were full, and tunes blasting from the car stereos. I remember that Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin, was playing. Little did I know that less than twelve hours later, I would be on that stairway.

I could hardly fall asleep that night with the anticipation of riding to work and showing off. I had made plans to pick up Harold. In the excitement to get out of the house early, I had forgotten the security badge that I needed to get into the restricted areas of the department store where I worked. When my manager told me I needed the badge, I said that I would go home and get it on break. I talked Harold into going with me, which wasn’t hard. We had 15 minutes to go about 4 miles round trip…no big deal.

About half way to my house it happened. From out of nowhere came the car, smashing into my bike broadside, pinning my leg between the red hot motor and the bumper of the car that struck us.

Harold flew 156 feet onto a porch and yelled for help. I had no clue what had happened and blanked out. My left leg was shredded from the knee down and my femur had popped out, mid thigh. My left leg would later be amputated. I screamed from the excruciating pain. My arm twisted into an abnormal position behind my back, and a bone popped out an inch above the elbow. My skull was cracked open and had swollen to what was explained to me as, the size of a basketball. I was in shock and had blacked out instantly.

In the emergency room I was given last rites…but God was not ready to take me home. A team of a dozen doctors, nurses and paramedics worked to keep me alive, some on my head, some on my arm and some on my leg. The gift that God had given those people, prayers from everywhere, and of course God’s plan for my future, pulled me through.

When I finally did come around, Dr. Loseff was looking me square in the eye and said,” You had better thank God you are alive!”

My reply,” I was just talking to Him!”

Rehab and therapy weren’t easy. With the prayers and encouragement of my family, friends (some I knew and some I didn’t) and relatives, I made progress. There of course, were set backs and people babied me.

Through this whole ordeal, I counted on Father John, an Australian hospital minister, for support and guidance. One Sunday, after service, Father John introduced me to three of the most beautiful people that I’d ever seen… Linda, Judy, and Evie. They were student nurses and greeted us with huge smiles and a caring, friendly, “Hello”! There was something special about these girls. They were the same age as I was, but they had plans for their lives. I did not, nor did my friends.

I pondered my future and asked God for His input. He answered me in an unusual way, saying…”Some people make mistakes and don’t get a chance to correct them…make the most of what I’ve given you!”

What started out to be what I thought was the worst day of my life, turned into the first day of my walk with the Lord. I spent 100 days in the hospital, which gave me a lot of time to think. Sometimes it’s hard for me to admit this, but the road I’m traveling down now is much smoother. I’ve changed my ways and consider the feelings of other. I listen more and talk less. I enjoy helping others and do not expect recognition for it. The list goes on and on as I continue to learn as I grow.

Oh yes, one last thing. I’ve been married nearly 31 years and have two boys, Brian and Chris, and two great daughters- in-law, Hester and Jayme. My wife’s name is Linda and she was, as you may have guessed, one of the student nurses at lunch that day so many years ago!

God’s plan was for me is to do more for others. I awaken each morning excited to see what He has planned for me today. I am truly blessed!

Dean A Menier Deanlyn@earthlink.net