When Morgan Freeman escorted Margot Robbie on stage at the 2023 Oscars, his left arm caught the attention of many. In fact, the 85-year-old actor wore an elbow-length satin black glove, which raised many concerns. And the reason behind it goes back to a heartbreaking event that transformed Freeman’s life 15 years ago.
Back in 2008, the Shawshank Redemption star was injured in a serious car accident that left him with a paralyzed left hand.
After the crash, Freeman had to undergo a 4-hour surgery in order to deal with his broken left shoulder, arm, and elbow.
A couple of years after the unfortunate event, the acclaimed actor opened up about his struggle, saying ’’I suffered nerve damage, and it hasn’t gotten better, I can’t move it.’’
He added, ’’If you don’t move your hand, it will swell up. Do you know you move your hand about a million times a day?’’
And even though doctors had reassured him that his hand would get better by 2011, this unfortunately didn’t happen to be the case.
Freeman ended up with permanent nerve damage and is still unable to wiggle his fingers.
And it seems that even 15 years later, the Oscar-winning actor is still dealing with the consequences of his accident, as we saw him wearing a glove during the ceremony.
According to experts, the compression glove works by lightly squeezing the veins in one’s hand to support blood circulation and can even help to manage tingling, pain, and swelling.
Preview photo credit PATRICK T. FALLON/AFP/East News, PATRICK T. FALLON/AFP/East News
MY HUSBAND SPENT OUR FAMILY’S SAVINGS FOR A CAR ON A PARIS TRIP FOR HIS MOM — SO I TAUGHT HIM A LESSON ABOUT FINANCES.
The weight of the betrayal settled in my stomach like a cold stone. Three years. Three years of sacrifice, of pinching pennies and foregoing simple pleasures, all for a car that would keep our family safe. And he’d squandered it. On a whim. On a trip to Paris for his mother.
David, bless his oblivious heart, seemed genuinely surprised by my reaction. He’d always been a mama’s boy, and I’d tolerated it, even indulged it, to a point. But this? This was beyond the pale.
“It’s my money too!” he’d protested, his voice rising in that familiar defensive tone. “She deserves it! You can’t put a price on gratitude.”
I’d simply stared at him, my mind reeling. Gratitude? What about gratitude for the sacrifices I’d made, for the countless hours I’d spent juggling work, kids, and household chores? What about gratitude for the safety of our children?
I knew arguing would be futile. He was locked in his own world of justifications, and I wasn’t about to waste my breath. Instead, I retreated, a quiet fury simmering beneath my composed exterior.
Over the next few days, I played the part of the understanding wife. I smiled, nodded, and even helped him pack his mother’s suitcase. I listened patiently as he recounted his mother’s excited phone calls, her plans for sightseeing and shopping.
But beneath the surface, I was plotting. I was determined to teach him a lesson about finances, about responsibility, about the true meaning of family.
First, I contacted his mother. I explained the situation, the crumbling van, the precarious state of our family finances. She was mortified. She’d always been a sensible woman, and she was appalled by her son’s impulsive decision. She offered to pay for the trip herself, but I declined. Instead, I suggested a compromise. She could still go to Paris, but for a shorter period, a weekend getaway rather than a full week. The difference in cost would be returned to our car fund.
Next, I tackled the issue of David’s “my money too” argument. I opened a joint account, separate from our everyday expenses, and deposited the remaining car fund, along with the money his mother had returned. I then created a detailed budget, outlining our household expenses, including the cost of a new (used) car. I presented it to David, highlighting the glaring discrepancy between our needs and his impulsive spending.
I also introduced him to the concept of “family meetings.” Every Sunday, we would sit down together, discuss our finances, and make joint decisions about spending. The kids were included, too, learning about the value of money and the importance of saving.
Finally, I decided to address the issue of his mother’s constant demands. I didn’t want to create a rift between them, but I needed to establish boundaries. I suggested that we set aside a small portion of our budget for gifts and experiences for both our families, to be agreed upon by both of us.
The changes weren’t immediate. David grumbled about the budget, about the “unnecessary” family meetings. But slowly, he began to understand. He started to appreciate the sacrifices I’d made, the careful planning that kept our family afloat. He even started to enjoy the family meetings, seeing them as an opportunity to connect with the kids and make joint decisions.
The day we drove our newly purchased (used) car home, David looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “For teaching me.”
I smiled. “We’re a team, David,” I said. “And teams work together.”
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