EDITOR'S NOTE: In June 2004 I began a new venture as managing editor of both Northfield News and Faribault Daily News. This column originally appeared in the Northfield News on March 17, 2006.
I got lucky ... Kirby Puckett didn't. No, this isn't just another column from a one-time fan about an adolescent sports hero. I believe that many better columnists than I this past week have extolled Puckett's virtues on the field and discussed his more recent poor off-the-field behavior. No, this column is more about the mind-boggling and awesome twists that life can throw at anyone ... even multi-millionaire sports heroes. It's been thoroughly reported this past week that Puckett died from the effects of a massive stroke he suffered on March 5. To many the news probably was shocking because they think of strokes as something that afflicts the old: How could someone as young as Kirby, who was 45, suffer a stroke? Unfortunately, the reality is that anyone can have a stroke at any moment. Stroke does not discriminate against the old; it afflicts the young just as often. And it is the nation's third-leading cause of death behind heart disease and cancer. It's not a surprise that most know so little about stroke; there aren't large national awareness campaigns such as there is for the various forms of cancer, and so how would the public know the facts about stroke until it impacts their own lives. That's probably the only reason that I know more than I care to about stroke. In fact, when I heard the news about Puckett's stroke that fateful Sunday night, a shiver crawled up from the base of my spine until my scalp tingled. It was a familiar feeling of fear. On an April afternoon three years ago, my life changed forever when I awoke from a short cat nap after work to find that the right side of my body was numb, my motor skills were slowed and all of my thoughts were cloudy. You guessed it ... I had suffered a stroke. Of course I didn't learn this for a frightening few days, and more specifically I suffered a transient ischemic attack, also known as a TIA or a "mini-stroke." So, as I heard the news reports about Puckett stream through my TV, my mind drifted back to another time in my life that I'd just assume like to forget, but can't. That afternoon when I suffered my stroke, I was awakened from my cat nap by my family coming home. I had arrived home early and was catching a snooze while listening to the 5 p.m. news. The next moment I remember is waking to hear my oldest son barging into the house, but my thoughts just weren't clear. And I noticed a strange numbness that ran down the right side of my face into my arm and leg. That night I went to the hospital and several blood tests and a CAT scan revealed nothing. The next day I returned when I didn't feel any better and so I underwent a MRI, which detected a spot on my brain, the scar tissue left from my stroke. I was immediately referred to a much larger hospital in Duluth and eventually to the Mayo in Rochester. My family and I endured several months of agony until finally doctors at the Mayo discovered that I had a small hole in my heart that allowed oxygen to enter the blood being pumped to my brain ... not a good thing. That had caused my stroke. Finally, about six months after my stroke, Mayo doctors inserted a tiny titanium button into my heart to close the hole. That they believe should prevent me from having another stroke for at least that reason. As my mind drifted when I heard the Puckett news, I was personally struck by his prophetic words he spoke the day he announced that he could no longer play baseball. Essentially, he told the world not to be sad for Kirby Puckett because there are no guarantees about tomorrow. And that was what my mind seized on that night in my living room: Kirby's resolve to never take anything for granted. That was the very same promise I made to myself after my scary brush with my stroke: I remember thinking that I had survived a tremendous scare and I wasn't about to take my life for granted any longer. Especially being I was the father of two young children, and I had lost my dad as a 12-year-old. But then life intervened, and I got busy taking care of kids and working and the many other thousands of other details that creep into our lives that make us forget just how awesome life is. I realized as the news about Puckett's death was announced that I had broken my own promise and forgotten about never taking life for granted. And that is why I thank Mr. Puckett. Through his death, I again remembered something that I had forgotten since my own scare: There is nothing so big, so scary looming in the future that I can't be thankful for today. Today I will get to talk to and play with my two wonderful sons, Garrett and Carter, and go home to the wonderfully stupid grin of my 10-year-old Husky named Chuck, and go to a job I love, and visit with my friends, and call my mom. And I am happy about all of that because I remember too well that tomorrow is not guaranteed. Thanks to Kirby, I hopefully will hang on to this lesson a little bit longer this time. -- Devlyn Brooks is the managing editor of the Northfield News.
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