What Would Superman Think?

I don’t feel overly preoccupied with morbidity, but my blog of late would seem to deny that assessment. But hey, people die, dogs have surgery, wars are waged, fears arise. It happens. And well… last night Superman died, and I simply can’t let that pass without commentary.

This morning when I heard the news that Christopher Reeve had passed on, I felt much more sadness than I normally do for even someone in the Hollywood community whose work I admire greatly. And let’s face it—Reeve at his height of fame was acclaimed for movies that required B-grade acting. His gift to me was ultimately becoming my biggest ally on bad days.

In case you’ve been living in a cave for the last decade—a cave without even a battery-operated radio or a couple Dixie cups with a string—Christopher Reeve played Superman in four incredibly successful movies of the same name and variously assigned numerals. His career was much more extensive, of course, but those were the flicks that made him fly both literally and figuratively. Then in 1995 he was thrown from a horse and paralyzed from the neck down. He had always been an activist, but after this event that at worst would have sent me into a permanent sulk and, at best, motivated me to perpetuate my blog by moaning into voice-activated software… well, Reeve was made of finer stuff. He took this horrible, life-flattening event and with this leaden tragedy alchemically made gold with his activism, expending enormous effort to make the way better for present and future victims of his fate. The man never gave up.

So what does this have to do with me? A few years ago I was having just a completely crappy day and was totally bummed and… surely I don’t have to tell you what it’s like to have a bad day. Back then I didn’t even have a blog to whine to. At some point I started thinking about Christopher Reeve, and how if I were he and had had this day complete with everything going wrong, it would still be the best day of my life because I was breathing without a ventilator and feeding myself and by God walking on my own two legs. I then imagined what it would feel like to be deprived of walking and to get it back and the joy that would accompany such a momentous event. In that moment, it felt like my obligation on Reeve’s behalf to really appreciate what a wonderful miracle I had goin’ there. Suddenly my day took on a sheen of amazement and happiness because I was WALKING! And even running. Okay, we’re not talking land speed records, but we’re not talking wheelchair-bound either.

I guess having this indirect relationship with “Superman” has been a little like having an imaginary friend. Whatever it is, it has been highly effective as my litmus test and reframer when bad days happen. “Hmmmm… what kind of day would this be for Christopher Reeve?” Then taking on those feelings of joy and amazement yet again. Once in awhile I try it, and my Inner Bitch mutters, “Oh for chrissake, even HE thinks it sucks!” And that makes me laugh, so it’s still a win.

This morning on the news, they replayed a 2002 interview in which he said how jealous he sometimes felt as people did the simplest physical tasks without realizing how precious those moments were. He mentioned watching a guy get out of a chair and stretch, and thinking, “You’re not even thinking about what you’re doing and how lucky you are to do that.” I probably don't fully know just how lucky I am, but because of Christopher Reeve, I have a much better idea of and appreciation for it than I would have otherwise.

If there is an afterlife, forget resting in peace, Chris. Catch up on your running.