I was two thirds the way through my pulled pork, (leaning rather heavily into the spicy sauce) haystack onion straws, sweet beans, and dinner roll at an OKC Swadley’s when I chanced to glance up and saw you restocking the salad bar.

At first, I paid you very little mind; I had a flight to catch, and my time was limited.  They said this airport could be bad about time through security and I had never flown through it; I needed to be there soon.

I was nearing the end of my meal when I glanced up again, in your direction.  I took in how deftly you arranged the salad bar.  I had never seen someone take the pain and care you were taking to organize the meat into an attractive display and fluff up the lettuce so that it looked just as fresh as that morning.

Maybe it was the lights on the salad bar display that did it; maybe it was something else.  My eyes were drawn to your arms and hands as you worked. 

At first, I didn’t see what I was seeing.

But then, in a flash, I did.

I saw the compression dressing on your right arm first and thought maybe you were getting over a bout of tennis elbow, although it seemed the dressing was a little too far down your arm for that particular injury.

Next, I saw your left arm and my mind began to coalesce the facts in a sort of abstract way; I was still more concerned about catching my flight.

But then, it all suddenly made sense.

The skin on your left arm wasn’t the right color, and it wasn’t the lighting doing it either.

I looked closer, and saw your left arm wasn’t the right shape either. 

It was knobby and thin in places where it should have been filled out.

I saw the graft marks where the new skin had been stretched over the burned areas.  I saw the square imprint of skin more tanned than the scar tissue beneath it.

I looked back over to your right arm, and the compression dressing made complete sense now.  It was in the same area on your right arm as the new skin grafting was on your left.

I saw how nimbly you moved among the dishes and realized you had spent hundreds of hours, in excruciating pain, in physical therapy to get to where you are today.

*****

My meal was almost done, and I needed to be on my way.

You were still there at the salad bar, and I planned to walk by you on my way out.

But then, I realized my exit didn’t go by you.

And I was in a hurry by that time, and I knew the words I wanted to say couldn’t be hurried.

But if I could have stopped by and chatted a bit, I would have told you this.

I would have told you I thought you were amazingly brave.

I would have told you I respected you immensely.

I would have told you that some folks say not to let your scars define you, but I would have thanked you for letting them define who you are.

Because if you don’t let them define you, then who are you, and will you get the help you really need?

And your scars have made you into the new person you are. 

You will never be the person you were before, and the rest of us need to give you space and respect you for it and all you have done in the time sense.

Kudos to you, young lady.  I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to visit with you. 

It would have been my privilege to do so.