Ladder Buddy

One spring, Amy volunteered to bring our Coleman RoadTrip grill to a Milwaukee Brewer tailgate party organized by her work colleagues as a team building exercise. The grill is a versatile propane grill ideal for tailgating, camping, and other gatherings. It is very portable and offers easy ignition but is always somewhat messy to clean.

Over the winter, we store the grill in the rafters of our garage, so it is out of the way during the winter months. When Amy told me that she had volunteered to bring it to the tailgate to cook burgers, chicken, and brats, I moved the cars out of the garage and got the ladder out to retrieve it.

I set up the ladder underneath it and climbed up to retrieve the approximately 45-pound grill. I (and my family) have always had a particularly dicey relationship with ladders. My brother seriously injured his shoulder in a ladder fall several years ago and I have fallen off my fair share of them as well.

The grill was sitting on top of the rafter and having done this task before, I assumed I could easily accomplish this task without assistance from Amy or one of the boys. As I tugged at the grill to move it into position for a controlled decent to the garage floor, it seemed to snag on something. After a couple of unsuccessful gentle pulls without it moving, I gave it a much stronger and ill-fated yank to free it from its place.

The grill broke loose of whatever was restraining it and came flying out faster than I had anticipated. It knocked me off balance and the ladder flew out from under me.

In cases of sudden clarity, those moments for me often move forward in slow motion. As I was falling, I distinctly remember cursing myself as I fell toward the hard cement garage floor. I also realized that I was not the only object in motion. The 45-pound grill was following me down and was going to land on top of me when I hit. It may be hard to believe, but as I was falling, my mind processed these events, and I came to a quick conclusion. “This is going to hurt.”

Amy came quickly out of the house when she heard the commotion. My neighbor, Dana, also saw the incident and ran across the street to check on me. I had hit my head hard on the concrete floor, but the real pain came from the leg that had absorbed the weight of the grill. Fortunately, my thigh had absorbed the impact of the grill and it was undamaged. My thigh, however, was severely bruised for the next couple of weeks.

The bruise to my ego, however, was worse as the story of my mishap quickly spread to our neighbor friends. In typical Amy fashion, she informed everyone that heard the story that she was instigating a new policy at our house. I would no longer be allowed to climb a ladder without a ladder buddy present to steady the ladder and prevent any ill-fated decisions. Her announcement would immediately generate laughter as friends and neighbors teased me, but it took the sting of embarrassment out of the situation. To this day, neighbors who see me take the ladder out, yell at me to make sure I have a ladder buddy before getting up on the ladder.

Throughout my life I have made countless embarrassingly stupid mistakes. I know that no one is immune to such experiences, but I have always felt like mine are particularly boneheaded and tend to be more public than others. When they occur, my regret is instantaneous. I feel embarrassed and would like to crawl under a rock. Most of the time, my blunders are created not out of ignorance or stupidity but are born out of inattention or carelessness.

This weekend, I made another one of those embarrassing mistakes and the emotional hurt hit me more than usual. Amy always had a talent to lighten the sting of my blunders with wit and charm wrapped in love. With her by my side, I was always able to follow her lead and make light of these incidents through self-deprecating humor. I miss her ability to make me feel less small and her talent for always making me feel loved regardless of the blunder. After my recent blunder, I had no one to cajole me out of my morose mood. It is in these moments that I miss her so deeply.

Sometimes in life, you really do need a ladder buddy.