Becoming a Pogo Stick

By: Denise Vaughn

What would you say to someone that tragically lost one of their legs?

It should not be to “praise God for the surviving leg…”

Or to be thankful for their other body parts.

Because on April 5, 2024, I lost one of my legs.

Of course, I appreciate and love my other leg.

However, I was given two legs.

I carried two legs around for a while.

Now I hobble around on one leg.

I can’t put too much weight on this leg, either.

That wouldn’t be fair to this leg.

This leg doesn’t even have a clue what happened.

All this leg knows is that it used to be kicked at times.

Will God give me a prosthetic leg?

That wouldn’t heal me, though.

Or wipe away the memory of it being cut off.

It’s crazy that I already started to grow another leg.

That I didn’t even ask for.

But it was ripped off again.

I wish I could’ve at least seen what the leg would've looked like.

How would you prefer to move around?

Hop? With crutches? In a wheelchair?

I would’ve preferred the wheelchair with both of my legs.

But I’m a pogo stick now.

Truth is, I probably don’t need another leg.

Life can be purposeful with two, one, or none.

So every day I just stare at my surviving leg…

praying that it’s here to stay.

This is my existence now.

God gave me two legs simultaneously.

Angelo. Asher.

God, please don’t take away my other leg.

This poem was written to express my grief losing one of my twins, Angelo, then losing my unexpected pregnancy with Aaron a few months later. A leg was the only analogy I could use that comes close to describing this complex loss.