This is my reality. I suffer neuropathy and other chronic pain due to back problems. I cried and cried when I read this, and when I showed it to Cimmy, she did the same. She is taking the brunt of things right now, trying to help me, but then also trying to keep up with our son and his special needs. Then there is our parents and their illnesses– this issue just digs deep across generations. I am grateful to my good friend here for summing things up so well– a wounded heart DOES love more deeply.
“Sorry,” she said as she passed me in the entrance to the women’s room, “That’s my husband in the other stall. Don’t mind him.” She was going back to her car.
Her husband was in the farthest stall, the one typically large enough for a wheelchair to turn around. There was one stall left for me…
There were only two cars parked by this restroom, mine and the older woman’s, a sturdy car like a Bonneville, gray like the sky. She was rounding the driver’s side to return to the restroom (as I returned to my car).
“Thank you,” she said, “for understanding.” In her right hand were her keys, and in her left, was a blue, waffled diaper, disposable…
“Everything OK?” I said.
And the woman paused, breathed a little, raised her eyes with a slight smile on half her face. “Fine,” she said. “Thank you.”
And she made…
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October 9, 2013 at 10:07
It is a very powerful post, and a subject that touches many, many people.
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October 9, 2013 at 16:55
I still can’t read it without crying. It hits home in a bittersweet way, but in a good way. People need to know what we’re dealing with.
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