Doctorate Graduation

At 3:15 PM our Grand Canyon University (GCU) driver, from the day before, picked us up at the Hotel to take us over to video tape a testimonial for the University. The van was equipped with a ramp allowing me to drive my battery-operated wheelchair right into it. On the way he had taken a few detours to show us how much the University had expanded over the last few years. It was amazing the rapid growth, while maintaining architectural beauty and function, that the University accomplished. Upon arriving to the building that the testimonials were being filmed, the campus grounds were flooded with graduating students with their families and friends from an earlier graduation ceremony. In 3 days, GCU held 7 graduation ceremonies which included mine.

Grand Canyon University invited a dozen or so doctoral graduates to give a video testimonial/advice of what to expect, or the ‘do’s and don’ts, for the next upcoming wave of doctoral students. My advice was for the learners to learn how to say ‘no’. At that level of academia, a student has to say ‘no’ to going to parties, family functions, etc. and dedicate themselves to studying several hours every day. Get into a routine of time allotment, a routine of discipline and it starts with just saying ‘no’. What was special about this get together was I had a chance to meet a few doctors and GCU Directors that I had only known by e-mail and/or voice over the telephone. There were no handshakes, only big hugs and kisses. I should say only big, long hugs and kisses. I didn’t want those moments to end. It was 4:45 PM and the Grand Canyon University Arena, where the graduation was being held, doors were opening at 5:00 PM. Obviously, I wanted to get there a bit early due to the unknown wheel chair logistics.

The GCU Arena was located right next door to the building where the testimonial session was being held. This was not a problem for the battery-operated wheelchair. When Melissa and I arrived at the Arena, the doors were locked and there were lines forming. Melissa got on one for non-graduates and I was on the one for graduates. Because of the amount of people, my wheelchair sight level in the sea of bodies caused me to lose sight of Melissa. So, all I was left with was my thoughts. Even with the crowd generated surrounding noise, it became eerily quiet for me. I started to think back of when I started this journey and started to get choked up. I quickly stopped my thought process so the people in the surrounding lines could not see me. I was spectacle enough in the wheel chair, I didn’t anyone see me crying. Finally, the clock struck 5:00 and the doors were being opened to the sea of waiting people. I still had no idea where Melissa was.

Once inside the main entrance of the Arena, Melissa found me. We were quickly met by Beth’s team of angels. One took Melissa off to the right, with her being nervous about leaving me. But I was in good hands. I was directed off to the left to get my cap and gown fitted. This was reminiscent of the airport. I didn’t have to stand in lines waiting. As a matter of fact, my trek to the second floor, to be fitted in my cap and gown, was like that of a presidential candidate. I was quickly escorted from the public areas, where my fellow graduates were traveling to get fitted, to the ‘behind-the-scenes’ areas of the arena. I was quickly being directed through the service and storage areas until arriving at a padded freight elevator. My precious cargo butt was than elevated and dropped off on the second floor. Racks and racks of rented caps and gowns were staring me in the face. I signed to receive a ticket at the check-in station for my graduation apparel. This is where a mini-nightmarish event divulged itself. The fit of the gown.

Several weeks before, I had to order my rented cap and gown on line. This is where the nightmare was originated. There were sections on the on-line form for the gown size, specifically my height and weight. Here in lied the problem. Before I had recently lost my second leg, I stood 6-foot 5-inches tall. After the amputation, missing both legs, I went down to 4-foot 5-inches tall, with my weight being 285 pounds. What’s wrong with this picture. On paper I look like the fattest short person on earth. But my upper body was that of a 6-foot 5-inch athlete, just missing the lower half of the equation. With that said, I called the cap and gown company for ordering clarification. I was told that there was no problem just check the boxes of my current height and weight. I figured there were others before me, so this would not be a unique problem. Oh, I was so wrong. A graduation gown is long and flowing with long billowing sleeves that extended down to the wrist. The computer translated my height as me being a person with an upper body and arm length of a 4-foot, 5-inch tall person, not the upper body of a 6-foot 5-inch person. My gown sleeves went no further down my arms than the middle of my bicep. The gown was so small and tight that I tore the sleeve trying to get it off. One of the owners of the company came to my rescue with a spare, backup gown that was my size. Thank God. It was off to have my picture taken in my, now-fitting, graduation attire at a nearby photo station on the second floor and then have my personal wheelchair director run interference for me to my private freight elevator. He maneuvered me through the crowds with speed and elegance, never allowing me to hit anyone. Doors closed, push of the button, down please.

We were now on our way to the arena floor. This, graduation, was really happening. But I never pictured it quite this way. I was left to my solitude. I was behind the scenes while everyone else was on the arena floor and in the stands. Maybe it was appropriate that the elevator had padded walls portraying myself in solitary confinement, leaving me with only my thoughts, prayers, and gratefulness. We arrived at the back of the stage where there was an opening between these gigantic black curtains. As they were opened to allow me through, the crowd, a wall of people seated in the arena was before, around me. Music was playing, and the arena lights were dancing everywhere. It was like an academic rock concert. People were on their feet dancing, cheering, and waving to their graduating loved ones. They were academic groupies screaming. Looking straight ahead, I saw a sea of seated doctoral students. At my eye level, I could only make out faces in the first two rows. After that, all I could see were the top of the caps to a point and then I let my imagination paint the rest of the picture. Then I saw Melissa. She was seated in the first-row next to the arena floor. I was to be seated on the outside of the second row not even 10 feet from her only separated by the floor railing. Beth seated Melissa there before any others could be seated. She even sat with her while when I was away to help relieve the anxiety that Melissa was going through. She was worried about me, where I was, and what I was going through. Beth became a calming, reassuring presence for Melissa. So, Melissa and I were seated together, separated by only about 10 feet and a railing. She bent over the rail to give me a kiss, and in that quiet moment in all the excitement, I heard a voice say, “could you kiss her again, I didn’t quite get it”. Looking up, somewhat confused, I saw the camera man, Brian, from the video session that morning. I forgot that he was going to be following, filming me throughout the commencement ceremony for the marketing video. The two good things were that my graduation was being personally filmed by a professional and, more importantly, I got another kiss from Melissa.

Before being directed to the end of my row, I was taken to the back of the stage where there was a wheelchair lift. The able-bodied graduates would walk up several steps to get on stage to be introduced as doctors and accept their diplomas. Beth had a wheelchair lift placed in the back of the stage that allowed me to get up there, be announced and accept. I was so pleased with the diversions and commotions of the logistics of it all. It kept my mind busy on other things, not just on my dream coming true, the people that were an integral part of it, and me sobbing like a baby. Okay, back to the outside of the second row, my assigned seat. Keeping my composure now became my main goal. Concentrate Eric, no tears. The ceremony hadn’t even started yet. With that said, a beautiful, petite woman starts walking towards me. At first, since I was situated in the aisle, assumed that she was just trying to get around me, but was happily mistaken when she stopped by my side, giving me the biggest hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was Kimberly, my student advisor that had helped with advice and answering my questions for over the past two years. All my long distant relationships were now adding visual and physical dimensions to them that night. The years of voices over the telephone now became not just visual aspects of the evening, but ones that I could literally embrace and kiss. At that point, I did have to wipe away a tear of joy. My emotions were now bouncing all over the place like a rubber ball in a concrete room. With another big hug and kiss for good luck, Kim had to leave. Again, I found myself concentrating, getting my composure, while reading Melissa’s lips across the way, “who was that”? As soon as I collected myself, a beaming, young man, clad in a doctoral graduation cap and gown rapidly approached me. This guy I recognized right off the bat. It was Dr. Mark, my Dissertation Chairman and mentor throughout the years. More hugs, more tears. He earned this degree as much as I did. I was as happy for him as much as he was for me. I felt like I was in my own private episode of ‘This is Your Life’. People, one-by-one, coming out from behind the curtain, showing and introducing themselves.

With the ceremony starting, everyone took their seats and/or got to their assigned places. There was singing and speeches that were uplifting, motivational, and inspirational. My mind was wandering, focus was something I was working hard to achieve and maintain. I just wanted to have my name called. I wanted to wheel across that stage and accept my diploma. I wanted to celebrate with Melissa. With the beginning festivities coming to an end it was show time. The first row stood up and filed one-by-one to a GCU Photo backdrop to have their picture taken and then on the way to the stage steps. It was a very well, orchestrated, assembly-line procedure on GCU’s part. I found humor in the part that GCU had laid silhouette foot prints/stickers on the floor that directed the graduates where to stop and stand. I looked at the foot prints on the floor and chuckled to myself, best laid plans, oh well, not applicable. They had dozens of volunteers, helping, directing, and assisting with the foot prints. The procession was moving as planned. Graduates were now being introduced as Doctors and diplomas were being issued. Seated in the second row, I got a view of how the procedure was working, what to do, with only a slight wheel chair detour along the way. The second row, my row, stood next, following the end of the first row. I powered my wheel chair to the foot prints on the floor, stopped and waited. Next, I was waived over to the GCU back drop to have my picture taken with the GCU Diploma sleeve. Instead of following the able-bodied graduate in front of me towards the steps to the stage, I broke ranks, made a left and headed to the darkness of the back of the stage where the wheel chair lift was located. Out of the light and into the shadows as they say. There were volunteers waiting for me, waiting to help. Once on the lift, I could see the graduating line on the steps, waiting to be called one by one. There was a timing, a cadence to the introductions – seconds, maybe a minute between each. I saw my spot in line before I got off. The person I was to follow was on the bottom step. I had to time my entrance on to the stage with that graduate because that was where my name, my introduction would be, would follow.

Well, the lift ‘up’ button was pressed. Nothing. Pressed again. Nothing. Holy shit, the lift didn’t work, I was stuck on the arena floor, no way to get up on stage. The distance for me accepting my diploma was about 5 vertical feet. How appropriate a long distance for a long-distance student. The volunteers now doubled in quantity to help, to get me on stage. People were under the stage unplugging and re-plugging wires and cables, searching for the problem. While this was going on, I was following the status of the graduate that I was supposed to follow. With each name called, introduced, he moved up one more step, another introduction, another step closer. I started to panic inside. I came this far to be stuck behind a stage, in the dark, on a malfunctioning wheel chair lift. I just imagined, in minutes, my name would be introduced, and I would be a no-show, no one to accept the honor. Finally, a volunteer, pushing any, and all buttons that could be pushed, hit the lift’s reset button. Bingo! Immediately, I hit the ‘up’ button, at the same time, rising to the stage. As soon as the lift made it to stage level, my name was called – Dr. Eric Gabriel – and I sped, maneuvered my chair across the stage to accept my degree. All the years I watched previous graduations for motivation, hopefully now, I would be on a motivational video/tool for others that followed me in the future. Hopefully, I would motivate other disabled individuals. Hopefully, my point that, an amputation does not end your life, has gotten across. Hopefully, I will carry myself with dignity and not embarrass the title of ‘Doctor of Education’. Hopefully . . . .

The ceremony lasted about another hour. At the end, individual and group photos were taken in the arena – the graduating Doctoral class of April 2019. Our designated cameraman, Brian, was still with us, still filming. To avoid the exiting crowds, Beth’s team, once again, took us behind the scenes for an easy way out. Exiting through the doors of the arena there was our driver waiting for us outside. It was seamless. What a team. I drove my wheel chair up the ramp into the van, said goodbye and much thanks to Beth’s team and Brian and took off for the Hotel. My tears were replaced with a smile that you couldn’t have smacked it off my face. Melissa and I get staring at each other with looks of disbelief, and then realization. WE DID IT! I wanted to jump out of that wheelchair and run around the campus with excitement. Man, I wanted to run.

Oh well, back to reality, back to the next best thing, back to the Hotel to celebrate. We made it back to the Hotel and Canyon 49 bar 45 minutes before closing. We thanked our driver, who was always there, always available, for making our transportation to and from the arena painless. He made us feel like dignitaries. Melissa and I headed toward the bar. I had a celebration package previously made to bring back to the room, but we had 45 minutes in public to celebrate. We sat down with our silly, thankful grins and order drinks. My vodka on the rocks kept coming. Melissa was drinking Cosmo’s. We would sip and reminisce about the night’s events. Since we were separated upon entering the Arena, we had a lot of stories to share. With the 10:00 closing of the bar, I got the food and champagne that I had ordered at lunch time and we went back to the room to eat, drink, look at pictures that Melissa had taken, and share more stories. Champagne was popped, several bites of food were taken, Melissa shared photos and e-mails with friends and family members, and with my adrenaline quickly deserting me, I fell asleep. I didn’t get a chance to thank the Lord for that day, and that journey. But he allowed me to dream about being a ball player that night and running.