"It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed." (Deuteronomy 31:8)
So many things have happened that've filled my heart with gladness since I brought home my new chair, and sometimes I find myself moved to teary eyes because of the love and grace God has been putting in my life. With the new features on my chair, my pain is significantly less, encouraging me to want to get out of the house more and learn new things. I'm laughing and dancing (in the depth of my heart) and I'm able to focus more on my emotional recovery. On Wednesday, my mom and I met a mother with three boys ages 10 months, 8 years (?) and 6 years old. The 6-year-old wasn't present, but his mother mentioned he too, had Cerebral Palsy, could walk with some difficulty and was mute.
While she and my mother happily discussed the similarities between him and me, I was blessed to entertain the older brother by helping him with addition practice, while his baby brother wondered around and eventually spotted my chair. I waved at the child who immediately came over in curiosity, and when I turned my chair off, I allowed him to touch it and look it over from the side. As most of my longtime readers know, for the last few years especially, the idea of motherhood in a wheelchair had seemed a big daunting, and sometimes still is. But I have come to realize a dormant side to me that has surfaced since my chair has provided me with more mobility and less pain; I am starting to really see my life become what I've always dreamed. I wiggled my fingers dangling over my armrest at the baby, calling him softly, and he took hold of them momentarily and beamed. It was the sweetest thing to have his little hand around my finger, looking up at me as if to say, "I understand now." Then he went back to running around.
After my appointment, mom and I stopped for lunch in the building and there was a young man around my age behind the counter, who saw me, smiled and said, "Hi there, what can I get for you?" I've never really had the opportunity to just see someone's face, because I'm usually looking down at the floor to make sure I don't run over feet, or concentrating on keeping my balance. He was really kind and liked his job from what I could tell, and that was very nice to see. He was 'listening' to me. Yes, people listen to me, but what I mean is he was really wanting to 'hear' me and bless me with my order. Part of me was shy, but I was at his eye-level. This whole elevation feature has given me so much! I could feel that the young man saw me and not my chair. 'I' was the first thing he saw.
On Thursday, my caregiver, Kara and I went shopping and I had such a fun time. We laughed so very much and connected more and honestly, it's like she's a long lost sister of mine - we have so much in common. We briefly spoke of the possibility maybe of us sharing a house together and splitting the rent. "You have the West Side, I have the East Side...", I said.
She replied with a chuckle: "You have the floral shabby chic, and I'll have the gypsy bohemian tent." When we went to eat lunch, I accidentally hooked my front wheel on the table leg and yanked the table a bit out of position like I was pushing a stroller. "This is what I worry will happen when I'm on a date," I told her. "But... Maybe he'll land in my lap or something from me accidentally plowing into him at 5mph as he goes to sit down. I'll just be like, 'Well then... That escalated quickly.' Hehe."
Earlier this week, I received a couple emails from my English professor (who's very reluctant to give A's) telling me my grades for my midterm exam and the start of my research paper, both 95s. While all these wonderful things are happening right now, I'm also preparing to send my final note to Henry on the 27th.
This has weighed heavily on my heart for over a year, and now I feel I'm at the place where I'm ready to give one last final try at reuniting or or to say a final and proper goodbye, whichever he'll receive. My counselor has been so wonderful in helping me get through this thick and cloudy grief. My stomach is tempted to curl this weekend from the fear that he won't reply, and each time I doubt whether or not I can bare this grief and uncertainty for another month or so more, God reminds me of His lovingkindness. I feel Him embracing me - a father comforting his daughter - and rocking me to sleep during these nights that would otherwise leave me restless and in sobs. He has blessed me with sweet dreams and so much to be thankful for, even if I must let go of Henry's presence for the rest of my life.