Skip to main content

it shouldn't but it does

Many years ago I was sitting in fast-food kid's play place with a child whose older sister was up in a crawl space with some other children. We could hear two other children talking with her, and as they began to ask questions about her disability, I could feel her brother bristling beside me. Had he been one of my chickens, every single one of his feathers would have been fluffed out in anger.  Granted, the children weren't asking anything inappropriate nor were they being rude, but it still greatly bothered their sibling. At the time I thought it was precious, and it reminded me of the old saying, "No one but me is allowed to say things about my sister!"

I was reminded of that scenario today. While visiting a friend in the hospital, we passed a woman with her elderly mother. The mother was using a cane and barely moving, and as we passed on our side of the hallway, the daughter turned and said, "Oh, Mom! Wouldn't it be nice if you could have one of those! What do you think?"  And I cringed and bit my tongue.

Yes, that woman's pain would be made a lot more bearable with a wheelchair or scooter. I don't envy her pain or exhaustion. But there are days when I long for my husband to walk beside me, even if it were slow and cumbersome. Nothing rises my ire like an old person saying to Bobby "I wouldn't mind having one of those" while nodding to his chair. And nothing makes me feel guiltier for being angry than realizing someone in pain  is only trying to figure out an easier way to maneuver. Isn't that what we're all trying to do? Without his chair, Bobby is bed bound. Without an electronic chair, Bobby is spatially stuck in one spot. For us, it's not a matter of what is nice or luxurious. It's a matter of existence.

We met a couple a few months ago whose young son suffered an incomplete spinal cord injry as a result of a gun accident. He's now learning to walk with the use of walking sticks, and his last three years have not been easy ones. His father was telling us how much it hurt to see him struggling to swing his leg and move one stick down the rehab hallway, and how he was trying so hard not to cry as he hurt for his son when he heard a voice behind him softly say "I so wish I could do that."  He turned to see another teenager sitting in a wheelchair. For that father, it was a turning point, a moment of gratefulness and some chagrin.

We talk about those feelings sometimes in a support group I belong to. Everyone struggles with their lot in life, but there's always a sub-group below them who looks upward and longs to be there. And maybe that is why I struggle to keep the ungodly, angry person subdued when I hear such comments as I did earlier today - the people who make those comments are not physcially below us on a chart. They can do more and feel more.  And yet, my head has to continuously remind my heart that the ability to feel and do can sometimes bring more pain and discomfort than the inability to feel and do. I should know that better than anyone.  So such comments shouldn't bother me. And yet, they do.

Comments

Melissa said…
I totally understand this. It's like when people say something to the effect of at least you get to relax on the couch and catch up on your TV when I'm having a bad day or when chemo was zapping my energy.

Popular posts from this blog

things we do for love

Saturday we had a baby shower for Bobby's niece. As I was making the mints, Bobby asked what else was on the menu. After I recited off the litany of items, he responded with "No peanut butter?! This shower is for Hannah! What's she going to eat?" (Hannah has had stomach problems over the years and has been unable to tolerate many foods, but peanut butter has been her staple.) Despite my assurances that she would enjoy the foods we were having, he was adamant that I needed to make peanut butter & jelly sandwiches for the shower. Even though I protested that NOBODY took that to a shower, he persisted, and informed me I could make them dainty with my little cutter. And so I did. To my surprise all but 3 were eaten. Who'd a thunk it?

get your house in order

My grandmothers were very clean people. My mother thoroughly enjoys cleaning, though she doesn't quite hit the same level my grandmothers were on. I don't enjoy cleaning, but I do like things to be clean. I've almost given up on neatness. One thing that they all instilled in me is the crazy concept that your house must be in order before you go somewhere big - like a vacation or something. After all, you could die in a car crash or have to go to the hospital, and then people would go into your house and find it in a terrible mess. Who wants to be remembered by that? So up until this past year, I would sometimes be up almost all night not only trying to get things packed up, but also trying to totally clean house as well. Or should I say, make the house presentable? The Chinese had a horrible superstition that my mother and grandparents would have enjoyed. Spring Festival (the Chinese New Year based on the lunar calendar) required EVERYTHING to be cleaned top to

Wait...it's almost March?!?

 10 more months 'til Christmas. This last month has been an absolute blur. Cleaning at Mrs. Bryan's house, cleaning at our house, lots of thinking and brainstorming and rearranging, appointments upon appointments, sinus infection/allergies, Bobby's surgery, meeting with surgeon and finally agreeing to future outpatient surgery for me, ongoing updates from my parents, garden tilled and snow peas, potatoes and beets planted (and yes I left several rows empty between the potatoes and beets for something else to go later as a buffer), chickens are laying, we may have a broody hen..in FEBRUARY!!!, we have two roosters that need to disappear, lots of family have been in from out of town to assist with the sorting and cleaning at Mrs. Bryan's house, and somewhere in the midst of it all I've found time to pay bills and catch up on a few emails. While I no longer feel like our house is a disaster zone, it is still overwhelming. Years ago a friend posted a quote by Martin Lut