Ain't No Less Sweet
"A crippled child ain't no less sweet. Keep it up." Some old man approached me while our family spent the evening out for pizza. I smiled and said thank you. Alisha five years old at the time, sat in her tiny wheelchair.
Some people speak with eloquence and then... The words lingered with me as we carried on with our family fun night. I kept saying he meant well. And he did.
I don't remember exactly how it made me feel but as I read about this stranger's words in my journal from years back, I smiled again. Apparently I knew he peered at our family with eyes of understanding.
One of the lessons I've learned over the years of being a mom to a child with severe disabilities is it is not my role to make others understand my world, Alisha's world.
Believe me this lesson soaked in slowly. A bit of a social justice in my bloodstream led me more than once to chase down the need to gain understanding.
At Target years ago, with Alisha, provided one of those crusading moments. Alisha, about three years old, unable to hold her upper body up at all, required complete support in order to sit vertically. Not able to push the stroller through the mounds of chunky ice and slushy snow in the parking lot, I scooped Alisha out of her car set, bundled in a puffy, bright pink snowsuit as I headed into the store. At the time Target's grocery carts provided infant carriers to strap your baby in. I looked around for one to lay Alisha in. Alisha fit snugly under the straps, legs dangling out the front and stiff arms jettisoning out the sides. She tolerated her stuffed placement with her usual smiles.
Not an ideal set up but workable. Another big lesson learned on the journey of disabilities, resourcefulness! We made our way around the store, hoping to be out quickly. I stood in an aisle gazing at shelves when I caught out of the corner of my eye a woman standing at the end of the aisle with her young daughter approximately ten. She stared down the aisle to say to her daughter, "There they are. You are right. She is way too big to sit in there." They walked away. I looked behind me to see who they were talking about. No one was there.
It occurred to me the woman referred to us, Alisha. Anger rose up in me. Why would a mother strap her child into one of these cart carriers if her child could sit up? What child would lay confined in one of these cart seats if they didn't have to? That was it. I would find her and I would explain why marshmallow girl joyfully sat in the cart carrier. My wheels practically burned rubber skating down aisles to find them. I wanted this mother to share something more important with her daughter. I wanted to help her to help her own child to be thoughtful. Compassionate. Non-judging. Understanding.
I never found them. The misunderstanding went undone. I couldn't change it. Sometimes it needs to be enough to know God understands. He may be the only one who ever does.
Comparing the two situations I've learned this: it ain't no less sweet to have someone understand without you explaining it, then it would be, if you had!
Some people speak with eloquence and then... The words lingered with me as we carried on with our family fun night. I kept saying he meant well. And he did.
I don't remember exactly how it made me feel but as I read about this stranger's words in my journal from years back, I smiled again. Apparently I knew he peered at our family with eyes of understanding.
One of the lessons I've learned over the years of being a mom to a child with severe disabilities is it is not my role to make others understand my world, Alisha's world.
Believe me this lesson soaked in slowly. A bit of a social justice in my bloodstream led me more than once to chase down the need to gain understanding.
At Target years ago, with Alisha, provided one of those crusading moments. Alisha, about three years old, unable to hold her upper body up at all, required complete support in order to sit vertically. Not able to push the stroller through the mounds of chunky ice and slushy snow in the parking lot, I scooped Alisha out of her car set, bundled in a puffy, bright pink snowsuit as I headed into the store. At the time Target's grocery carts provided infant carriers to strap your baby in. I looked around for one to lay Alisha in. Alisha fit snugly under the straps, legs dangling out the front and stiff arms jettisoning out the sides. She tolerated her stuffed placement with her usual smiles.
Not an ideal set up but workable. Another big lesson learned on the journey of disabilities, resourcefulness! We made our way around the store, hoping to be out quickly. I stood in an aisle gazing at shelves when I caught out of the corner of my eye a woman standing at the end of the aisle with her young daughter approximately ten. She stared down the aisle to say to her daughter, "There they are. You are right. She is way too big to sit in there." They walked away. I looked behind me to see who they were talking about. No one was there.
It occurred to me the woman referred to us, Alisha. Anger rose up in me. Why would a mother strap her child into one of these cart carriers if her child could sit up? What child would lay confined in one of these cart seats if they didn't have to? That was it. I would find her and I would explain why marshmallow girl joyfully sat in the cart carrier. My wheels practically burned rubber skating down aisles to find them. I wanted this mother to share something more important with her daughter. I wanted to help her to help her own child to be thoughtful. Compassionate. Non-judging. Understanding.
I never found them. The misunderstanding went undone. I couldn't change it. Sometimes it needs to be enough to know God understands. He may be the only one who ever does.
Comparing the two situations I've learned this: it ain't no less sweet to have someone understand without you explaining it, then it would be, if you had!
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