On Color

I have seen snow on the ground as early as the first day in October and as late as the first day in May. In Michigan, winter never shows up when you think it will.  I really wish I enjoyed the snow, longed for the cold, and prayed for Christmas songs to come the radio; it would be nice not to dread the better half a year, every year. The mixture of grey skies and white snow stays far too long for me. My muscles ache even more than yours do in the cold and I feel trapped inside. I hate that feeling. I consider myself an eternal optimist in the summertime, and I wish this attitude transferred easily to the winter, but it doesn't. I don’t feel good again until the first time I get stuck.

Sometimes “getting stuck” for me, literally means getting stuck—in the snow. Unfortunately, each winter dozens of snowy sidewalks in Kalamazoo, MI, where I attended college, go un-shoveled. This is probably annoying for the average person but for me, a girl in a wheelchair, it causes utter despair. After taking a ridiculous amount of time to get dressed, and re-training myself to ignore the aching pain in my legs, being instantly immobilized by a huge pile of barely frozen water can make me cry.  The compassion strangers show me during these experiences renews my optimism.  No matter how many times it happens, I am always surprised when someone stops walking to class or pulls their cars over to dig my incredibly heavy power-chair out of the snow.  The majority of those who do even go as far as to follow me for a while, to make sure I do not end up stranded a block down the road. Some of my more cautious friends have warned me against telling these people too much, just in case they are actually mass murders or arsonists.  In my mind, that thought process only perpetuates the gloominess of winter.   I have listened to these kind folks complain about their families, helped them with homework, and even dispensed romantic advice once or twice.  I am clueless as to whether or not any of that really made a difference, as they are, I suppose, clueless as to whether I make it to my destination safely.  It is not the end result that matters, though. The simple fact that in the most inconvenient circumstances, and without grantee of a positive outcome, we extended a hand to each other brings color back into my world.  

Before I moved to Kalamazoo to attend college, I got stuck in many different ways.  The middle of every winter day in elementary school included the tremendous and horrendous task of putting on snow pants. The teacher would allow me to start dressing for recess five minutes before the other kids and they were still ready a good ten minutes before I was.  For years, I was stuck inside alone (other than the teacher) until my snow pants were on.  This made finding my friends on the playground very difficult and led to a lot of lonesome recesses. Then one day in Mrs. Laboon’s third grade class, a friend of mine, who was ready before all the others, used her extra time to assist me.  Mrs. Laboon was told explicitly by my Occupational Therapist not to dress me, but after seeing me come back from playtime frowning so often, she must have decided to look the other way when  my friend did. And just like that the blackness of being left out faded, and my eyes saw color.

Three years after that, on December 22, 1999 I had very extensive surgery on my legs. The lower half of my body was stuck in a spread-eagle position for ten weeks, the pain medication I was on made me indescribably sick.  I couldn’t bathe independently, had to use a bed-pan to go to the bathroom and barely ate. By the time my parents decided to stop giving me the pain pills, I was eleven years old and weighed thirty pounds. Being without them was agonizing also. Each tiny muscle in my legs felt like it was individually lit on fire. Compassion seemed to pop up everywhere though.  Almost everyone I knew or had even had a conversation with, sent gifts or came to visit. Friends and family spent hours of their own time comforting my parents and me and spent their own money trying to make my day better. The most shocking and wonderful burst of color came from my sister.

My sister and I were pals as toddlers, but during the early years of my adolescence, we pretended, very convincingly to despise one another. She teased me about anything and everything I did or said, called me spoiled and lazy and we often physically fought.  During the time I was recovering from the operation, she complained that I was getting all the attention, but she never left my side. She slept, ate and did her schoolwork, sitting at my bedside. It was the first winter during which she did not play in the snow she loved so much.  It was then that I realized she didn’t just love me because she had to; she sort of liked me, too.

Winter will always be a season of difficulty for me but it is in times of hardship that we see the best in our family, friends, and in strangers. I know that sounds cliché, but when I’m stuck it is a beautiful truth, a truth full of color.

(A video) On Depending on and Helping Others

On Equalizers

This first paragraph deals with disability because I can fully develop this example. My apologies if my transition to the actual point  of this post is careless.

Occasionally, People with disabilities have thought processes that read like this:

I'm sick of looking different, and sick of feeling different. I'm sick of making jokes about the parts of my life that can be indescribably bizarre. I wish I didn't have to be so open with people about the flaws that I forced to wear on my sleeve. I wish one able-bodied person would say to me "I wish things weren't so hard for you." I'm sick of fatigue and knee-pain and weakness. I'm sick of feeling defensive every time someone tilts their head when they talk to me, and even more sick of people tilting their head out of misguided sympathy. I'm sick of feeling like I have to prove to people that I'm not stupid and I'm even more sick of feeling like it might be a waste; maybe I am what they think I am. 

Then one speaks to a friend, a coworker, or a significant other and realizes that while every experience is unique, no emotion is. Everyone who has lived with a disability,hidden their sexuality,  dealt with a broken heart, or the unbelievable pain of losing a loved one too soon, lost their life savings or never had a dime to their name; everyone who has been stigmatized for their mental illness, or prayed for a tumor to be benign or hoped for a spouse to wake up,has suffered. We have not all felt lonely, frightened and inadequate for the same reason, but we have all undoubtedly felt lonely, frightened, and inadequate.These feelings are often the cause everything bad: addiction, thievery,selfishness, adultery, hatred, and even death.  Unfortunately,  emotions (particularly  negative ones) are the only real equalizer in this imbalanced world.I think this might mean that the only way to overcome our pain and feel joy is to help others feel fulfilled in their lives.These aforementioned "equalizing emotions" have forced us all to play on the same team. Nobody wins if somebody feels like they're losing. The only way we can ensure that less of us commit crimes, struggle with addiction or hurt those by whom we are surrounded is to admit and embrace the truth. We are an us. We all have a vested interest in making sure our fellow men and women are happy. In fact, if we want our children to grow up a better place than we did, we have a duty to do everything we can to assist them in becoming so.