by:
Anya Lockhart, aka Zara I was sent on a journey down a path. It was a very long path that seemed straight enough. I could not see any curves. There were trees on both sides ~ beautiful trees. As I was walking, I met a girl on the side of the road. She had no legs and was very sad. She had a small wheel chair but she couldn't get in it. Her name was Sally. I asked Sally why she was so sad. She told me that it was because she would always have to depend on others for...everything...for the rest of her life. She would need people who were understanding and compassionate. Those type people are hard to find. That is when I told Sally that I had Multiple Sclerosis, (MS). I explained this illness could very well take my legs and I would be in the very same position that she is in right now. I picked her up, put Sally in her chair, and asked her to come on this journey with me.
We walked and talked and began to connect. We looked at all of the wonderful things that seemed to be put in our path; the nature, the weather, the wonderful company.
As we were going along on this journey, we saw another child, seemingly looking down with a cane near his side but just out of his reach. Sally immediately thought this child had difficulty walking, but I thought it was something different. The cane wasn’t a walking cane but a cane used for a person who is blind. I asked the child what was wrong and the child told me the he was blind and he couldn't find his walking stick. He tried to search for it but without knowing where to begin, he was lost. He was sad because he had to depend on others for...everything...for the rest of his life. His name was Paul. He would need someone who was understanding and compassionate. I explained to him that I have MS, and it is likely that at some point I could lose my eyesight and I would be in the very same position that he is in right now. I introduced him to Sally and asked him to put one hand on Sally’s chair and walk with us. I told him that we were on a journey and I wasn't sure where we were going or how long it would take to get to that place but at least we would be together. He agreed to go with us and like Sally and I had done, Paul and I connected.
We continued on this journey and we talked and we laughed. We understood each other because we knew that somehow, despite our differences we were still the same. We all felt the pain of rejection and the fear of one day not being able to do things for ourselves. We knew what it was like to be let down over and over again and it hurt then and the pain lingers.
As we were walking we saw yet another child. This child was looking around. She seemed very confused. She kept putting her hands to her throat and turning her head. She couldn't speak and wouldn't come to me when I asked if she needed help. I asked Paul to stand still and hold both handles of Sally's chair while I walk over to the other child.
I put both hands on the little girl's shoulders and looked into her eyes. I smiled and as we connected, I could tell that this child was unable to speak. I could see that she was waiting for something, someone, but I don't think she knew who or what that was.
I told Sally and Paul that this child could not speak and they asked if MS would take my ability to speak? I chuckled. I told them, “Not that I know of, but I just wasn't sure. One day MS could very well take everything I felt was truly important but somehow was becoming less and less important. "Does that mean we should not show her compassion?” I asked. They both, at the same time said, “Of course she deserves compassion, everyone does.”
I took this young girl by the hand and I asked Paul to just take one handle of Sally’s chair so that this child could take the other handle. This little girl reached in her pocket and pulled out a little card that said Annie. I asked her if this was her name and she shook her head up and down. I told Paul and Sally that we have a new friend named Annie and she would be traveling with us.
So here we are, Sally, Paul, Annie and I, walking along this path with beautiful trees but the straight path started to turn. There were small curves and large curves. There were bumps, big and small. There were hills, tall and short. The kids were getting scared, so scared and said they couldn’t do this. They just couldn't do this alone, so I reminded them that they weren’t alone ~ we were together.
Paul said with tears in his eyes, “But I have heard that before from people that were very close to me. They hurt me, they left me and they made me feel like I was worthless because I couldn't see.” I let Paul know that I have also had people lie to me, call me names, misunderstand me; I have been hurt myself. I let him know that I wasn’t going anywhere. I reminded him of our connection and I wasn't going anywhere.
We came to a long, steep hill, which was hard going up, but that wasn't the scary part for the children, at least not Sally. The scary part for Sally was how we were going to get down the other side of this hill. She started to cry and told me, “People used my disability against me. They would roll me down hills and laugh. This hill is so big I am sure to fall out of my chair and really hurt myself again.” I let Sally know that I was not going to let her go. I was not going to let her go, I will never let her go. I know her pain, I feel her pain I don’t wish that on anyone. We work together and make it down the hill safely. Those people did not have our connection. I will not let go.
At the bottom of the hill, there was flat land. There was also a bench, an inviting bench. Annie grabbed my hand. She wanted to say something to me to get something across to me. She looked scared. She took my hand and wanted me to sit on the bench we saw, so I did. She climbed in my lap and curled up, so I put my arms around her and held her. I held her tight for a very long time and we rocked.
Sally and Paul came over to us and asked me what was wrong with Annie and why she wanted me to hold her like that ~ like a baby. I told Paul and Sally that Annie didn’t just want to be held, she needed to be held, to be loved. Everyone needs to be love. I don’t think that Annie was ever held and that she was making up for lost time. I think, right now, she feels like a baby and she wants her mommy. Right now, I am her mommy. Paul and Sally first looked down at the ground and then looked up at me and said, “Can I be next?” Of course I said yes. We held each other and the love was felt by all of us.
Everyone needs a mommy. ~ not just a mother who gives birth but a mommy who truly loves you and cares for you unconditionally. People with a chronic illness or disabilities need compassion and understanding just like everyone else, maybe more. We go through so many obstacles and pain that people without disabilities and chronic illnesses don’t go through. It is for that reason You would think that others like us would have compassion for one another. You would think people with chronic illnesses and disabilities would be more compassionate to others without. I could say the same about family members. Family members should be your biggest supports.
Unfortunately that is not the case and that is so very sad. I am amazed at the lack of kindness and the level of selfishness I have experienced. I am blessed to have received so many more good comments, help, love and support; but it is the bad ones that stay in my head. I am sure that is because they cut so deep, deeper than any knife, and those cuts are hard to heal. Those kinds of cuts leave scars. Scars remain. Whether they are seen or unseen scars, they remain and healing takes time, love and patience. Can the scars that these children have received be healed? Only time and love will tell. They trusted me, accepted me and allowed me to love them. Like those three children willing to trust, so must I.
We walked and talked and began to connect. We looked at all of the wonderful things that seemed to be put in our path; the nature, the weather, the wonderful company.
As we were going along on this journey, we saw another child, seemingly looking down with a cane near his side but just out of his reach. Sally immediately thought this child had difficulty walking, but I thought it was something different. The cane wasn’t a walking cane but a cane used for a person who is blind. I asked the child what was wrong and the child told me the he was blind and he couldn't find his walking stick. He tried to search for it but without knowing where to begin, he was lost. He was sad because he had to depend on others for...everything...for the rest of his life. His name was Paul. He would need someone who was understanding and compassionate. I explained to him that I have MS, and it is likely that at some point I could lose my eyesight and I would be in the very same position that he is in right now. I introduced him to Sally and asked him to put one hand on Sally’s chair and walk with us. I told him that we were on a journey and I wasn't sure where we were going or how long it would take to get to that place but at least we would be together. He agreed to go with us and like Sally and I had done, Paul and I connected.
We continued on this journey and we talked and we laughed. We understood each other because we knew that somehow, despite our differences we were still the same. We all felt the pain of rejection and the fear of one day not being able to do things for ourselves. We knew what it was like to be let down over and over again and it hurt then and the pain lingers.
As we were walking we saw yet another child. This child was looking around. She seemed very confused. She kept putting her hands to her throat and turning her head. She couldn't speak and wouldn't come to me when I asked if she needed help. I asked Paul to stand still and hold both handles of Sally's chair while I walk over to the other child.
I put both hands on the little girl's shoulders and looked into her eyes. I smiled and as we connected, I could tell that this child was unable to speak. I could see that she was waiting for something, someone, but I don't think she knew who or what that was.
I told Sally and Paul that this child could not speak and they asked if MS would take my ability to speak? I chuckled. I told them, “Not that I know of, but I just wasn't sure. One day MS could very well take everything I felt was truly important but somehow was becoming less and less important. "Does that mean we should not show her compassion?” I asked. They both, at the same time said, “Of course she deserves compassion, everyone does.”
I took this young girl by the hand and I asked Paul to just take one handle of Sally’s chair so that this child could take the other handle. This little girl reached in her pocket and pulled out a little card that said Annie. I asked her if this was her name and she shook her head up and down. I told Paul and Sally that we have a new friend named Annie and she would be traveling with us.
So here we are, Sally, Paul, Annie and I, walking along this path with beautiful trees but the straight path started to turn. There were small curves and large curves. There were bumps, big and small. There were hills, tall and short. The kids were getting scared, so scared and said they couldn’t do this. They just couldn't do this alone, so I reminded them that they weren’t alone ~ we were together.
Paul said with tears in his eyes, “But I have heard that before from people that were very close to me. They hurt me, they left me and they made me feel like I was worthless because I couldn't see.” I let Paul know that I have also had people lie to me, call me names, misunderstand me; I have been hurt myself. I let him know that I wasn’t going anywhere. I reminded him of our connection and I wasn't going anywhere.
We came to a long, steep hill, which was hard going up, but that wasn't the scary part for the children, at least not Sally. The scary part for Sally was how we were going to get down the other side of this hill. She started to cry and told me, “People used my disability against me. They would roll me down hills and laugh. This hill is so big I am sure to fall out of my chair and really hurt myself again.” I let Sally know that I was not going to let her go. I was not going to let her go, I will never let her go. I know her pain, I feel her pain I don’t wish that on anyone. We work together and make it down the hill safely. Those people did not have our connection. I will not let go.
At the bottom of the hill, there was flat land. There was also a bench, an inviting bench. Annie grabbed my hand. She wanted to say something to me to get something across to me. She looked scared. She took my hand and wanted me to sit on the bench we saw, so I did. She climbed in my lap and curled up, so I put my arms around her and held her. I held her tight for a very long time and we rocked.
Sally and Paul came over to us and asked me what was wrong with Annie and why she wanted me to hold her like that ~ like a baby. I told Paul and Sally that Annie didn’t just want to be held, she needed to be held, to be loved. Everyone needs to be love. I don’t think that Annie was ever held and that she was making up for lost time. I think, right now, she feels like a baby and she wants her mommy. Right now, I am her mommy. Paul and Sally first looked down at the ground and then looked up at me and said, “Can I be next?” Of course I said yes. We held each other and the love was felt by all of us.
Everyone needs a mommy. ~ not just a mother who gives birth but a mommy who truly loves you and cares for you unconditionally. People with a chronic illness or disabilities need compassion and understanding just like everyone else, maybe more. We go through so many obstacles and pain that people without disabilities and chronic illnesses don’t go through. It is for that reason You would think that others like us would have compassion for one another. You would think people with chronic illnesses and disabilities would be more compassionate to others without. I could say the same about family members. Family members should be your biggest supports.
Unfortunately that is not the case and that is so very sad. I am amazed at the lack of kindness and the level of selfishness I have experienced. I am blessed to have received so many more good comments, help, love and support; but it is the bad ones that stay in my head. I am sure that is because they cut so deep, deeper than any knife, and those cuts are hard to heal. Those kinds of cuts leave scars. Scars remain. Whether they are seen or unseen scars, they remain and healing takes time, love and patience. Can the scars that these children have received be healed? Only time and love will tell. They trusted me, accepted me and allowed me to love them. Like those three children willing to trust, so must I.
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