That Fateful Dive
Hi, I’m Joni Eareckson Tada and today is pretty special.
Today marks the day when I took that dive one hot July afternoon into the murky waters of the Chesapeake Bay and I broke my neck. Suddenly, in an instant I lost use of my body—my hands and legs. In a split second, I was a quadriplegic, never to be the same. You’ve heard me tell that story before, how I had to throw away all my plans, all my hopes and dreams only to face depression, hopelessness, despair. But I wasn’t the only one. I think of my mother, Lindy Eareckson. She looked at her 17-year-old daughter lying helpless on that Stryker frame in ICU, hooked up to tubes and machines and right there she had to throw away all her plans as well. All her hopes and dreams for her healthy, athletic daughter. My diving accident not only changed my life, but her life, the lives of everyone in my family. Like me, my mother had to face depression.
Now you’ve got to understand, that for the 17 years I’ve been on my feet, I’d never seen my mother cry. Oh, I saw her cry on happy occasions, like the birth of her first grandson, or at surprise parties. Or even singing around the campfire and enjoying the warmth of friends and family. My mother would cry when her heart overflowed with joy. But I never, ever saw her tear up over a great sadness, even when grandmom passed away. So, you can imagine when I first saw her cry after I got out of the hospital. My parents had set up my bed in the living room, and it was a Friday night when my friends had headed out to Vermont to go skiing. It was something I could have easily done with them but, because of my quadriplegia, going skiing was unthinkable. My mother saw the disappointment in my eyes as my sister put me to bed that night. And for the first time, I saw Lindy Eareckson wipe tears from her eyes. It stunned me. It almost unnerved me. I hated making my mother sad!
Over the years, after I moved to California, after the ‘Joni’ book was written and my ministry to people with disabilities was well established, my mother’s sadness slowly melted into a deep admiration for me, her daughter. Still, though, I could tell she wished I were on my feet. Whenever she would visit me and set up the table for dinner, she always put out a knife, fork and spoon at my plate, inconveniently forgetting to put out my special bent spork which I use to feed myself. I think it was her way of saying, “Oh Joni, I wish you still had use of your hands.”
But one summer back in the late 1990’s, Lindy Eareckson, my mom, joined Ken and me at our Joni and Friends Family Retreat in Pennsylvania. She stood there stunned to see all the kids with disabilities and their siblings; all the moms and dads, connecting and loving on each other; praying together, and playing together; having fun in the pool, going on wheelchair hikes, knowing that they otherwise never took a break, never enjoyed a respite. My mother could not believe the joy of the Lord everywhere on that campus. When she saw it, she turned to me and said, “Oh Joni, now I know why you broke your neck! None of this would be possible, were it not for your accident. I am so happy to see the outcome of that tragedy, and if anyone had to break a neck to make it happen, you’re the one who could handle it.”
I looked at my mother and smiled. Her epiphany had been a long time in coming, but that day at Family Retreat was a day of redemption. Hey, I have a photo of my mother at that family retreat. Just visit joniradioi.org and take a look, because that day was a day of great joy in the Lord, and for my mother? It was a good day to cry!
© Joni and Friends
