One day, I felt sadness over losing my friend, Chief Petty Officer Maurice Tuck. This was unusual because my military job taught me to control my emotions. Death in the military is unavoidable, but the mission must go on. Maurice and I were close. We would go to the gym and train during our off hours. He played a key role in helping me win bodybuilding titles.

Our favorite hero was Batman. We called ourselves “Batmen” when we trained. This carried on into my later years.

My coffee shop has a Batman mural on the wall. Batman lunch boxes.

The camper’s license plate says

Bat Cave, and my bike is Bat Cah. Yes, Bat Cah (in Maine, we pronounce the letter R as H).

I spoke of my sadness when my friend Will Johnson tried to comfort me, saying it’s okay to grieve and reminding me there’s no “S” on my chest. Of course, I responded that at least I have a Batman logo on it.

Then, I felt grief again when I was told I needed to attend a class about dialysis, even though I’ve been on dialysis for 3½ years and have had a transplant for nearly 18 years.

I questioned why I—someone who could teach the class—was being forced to attend. I fought it, but I had to go. Not happy.

Somewhere along the way, our children, whom we teach, become our teachers and voices of reason. My son said, “Dad, maybe you need to go because someone needs to hear your experience. Maybe you can be a calming voice for someone about to start this journey of uncertainty.” I wasn’t listening at first, but I still went to the meeting. The nurse explained what to expect and how to qualify for the transplant list. There were ten people in the class, and I stayed silent. Due to HIPAA rules, the nurse couldn’t share my previous experience. She tried to encourage my input discreetly, but I said nothing because I didn’t feel I belonged there. Near the end, my hardened, angry heart began to thaw, and I spoke up. The nurse was surprised! I asked, “Am I the only one here who has had a transplant?” Then I started encouraging the others, telling them what they need to do to beat the machine, get healthier, and qualify for a transplant. I explained they must fight and shared tips on staying healthy. I spoke for about 40 minutes, and everyone was hanging on every word, taking notes as if I was revealing life secrets. Afterward, the nurse smiled and said, “I was praying you would open up and speak. I can tell them, but it hits harder when it comes from someone who’s been there.”

As we left, I was overwhelmed with tears and gratitude. I received hugs and returned them. But one thing a young lady, about 30, told me through tears shook my spirit. She said, “I came here not wanting to. My brother tricked me and drove me here. I wanted to give up, thinking I couldn’t do this. After hearing you, I now believe I can make it.” She hugged me and cried happy tears. I drove home feeling emotional. When I got there, I cried uncontrollably in my car—I couldn’t stop. When I composed myself, I went inside, and my son greeted me. He asked, “How did it go?” I explained everything while sitting on my bed. He told me that God has a purpose for putting me in this place—that I needed to attend the class not just for myself, but for others. I have a calling, a duty, and I must do this with passion. That’s my calling… There were no words of sadness or protests that I shouldn’t be forced to attend. Instead, someone kindly reminded me how tough it could be and how others are struggling even more. Someone else is wishing they were in my shoes. To heal myself, I must heal others. Not with medicine, but with words of encouragement from my experience. I shouldn’t be angry about bearing this burden but grateful that I have the strength to do it. It reminded me of a hymn we sang in church when I was a child:

“Lord, you don’t have to move my mountain, but give me the strength to climb. And Lord, don’t take away my stumbling blocks, but lead me all around him.”

And even if you’re not Superman or don’t have an ‘S’ on your chest, you can at least be thankful that you’re Batman. I idolize the figure because he Refuses 2B Feeble.