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.
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.
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