My daughter and Adeline ('AD-uh-linn) weaved and bobbed around and across the paving with my daughter decidedly not wanting to follow the "stay to the right" US standards of foot traffic. She could have easily done so simply by marking the edge of the pavement drop-off with her cane. But no, she wanted to be free. Or, more to the point, she didn't want to do what we were telling her she needed to do.
People are very understanding, especially when they see the white cane indicating blindness. But this was in a rather narrow path with a reasonable number of people, strollers, bikers, and even a scooter moving along at random intervals. There was more than enough space for us to walk two-and-two while maintaining above the six-foot social distancing recommendations. The ladies wanted to run on ahead and given that Adeline was a year older and more experienced with cane work—not to mention had a tad bit more usable vision—we let them do so. That little freedom and independence are important to both the girls.
We would call out to move to the right because someone was coming and they would move over, that is unless my daughter didn't want to. She is respectful of the needs to social distance, but to her, in the loud area we were in where she couldn't hear people walking a bit up ahead, she just didn't want to be told what to do and didn't think it was necessary to get out of the way.
On several occasions, I had to physically pull her over to the right, kneel down on one knee and remind her that if she couldn't stay on the right when we asked her to, she was going to be with me, holding my hand. She has quite good hearing but one time after she had intentionally swerved across the pavement, causing a man to brake quickly on his bicycle, and I think she got the message.
We found a secluded spot in the shade where a wooden walkway traversed a dry creekbed and sat down for lunch. By this time my daughter was mightily cranky. I hadn't realized we were going to walk quite so far or I would have suggested sneakers instead of sandals, but it was too late at that point. After lunch, we walked the balance of the way around the lake and then went for ice cream.
After drinking a lot of the cloyingly sweet sorbet & Sprite freezes, the girls wandered off (in sight) to play in an area where they wouldn't run into anyone. Adeline's mother and I continued talking about all sorts of things, mostly related to school and other things about how life has been going raising a blind child with siblings.
She had asked me where we got my daughter's glasses and she's said they had planned to go there last week. I asked how it went and if they were able to help them. They hadn't had the particular size frames they needed, but that was okay, they were hard to find, she said. Then she told me something that has had me thinking since yesterday. She said a woman approached her after they left and told her she was going to pray for her daughter.
She thanked the woman, but then she said, "you should know though, she isn't suffering." She said a few other things, but that's the key statement: "she's not suffering." What does it mean to suffer? As I've thought about it since yesterday it seems to me to be largely subjective and a matter of perspective. What is considered poverty level today would be luxurious indeed when compared to the middle ages. Case in point, my son believes he's suffering if we require him to fold his own laundry. There is one YouTube man, blind from birth, that I've watched videos of. When asked if he could be sighted, would he want to be, his answer is no.
Perhaps suffering can be equated with pain. Or at least in one incarnation of suffering do we think of pain. We all suffer as we grow older, our bodies wearing out on us, eyesight and hearing fading, bones aching, injuries that can't be repaired, and general degeneration of our corporeal form as we age and grow old. I don't think elderly and suffering are synomous though.
But with regards to my daughter, is she suffering? She's not in pain. She has her own challenges. To many, they seem insurmountable because imagining life without sight is incredibly hard to do. Two years ago, to compare, my daughter was happily excelling in school while my son could barely get any work done and had terrible self-esteem as a result. He was getting negative feedback from his parents and teachers and yet he was trying his best. Was he suffering while my daughter wasn't?
Where I'm going with this is that it seems like a jungle filled with shades of grey and each person's path through is their own journey. What is normal to one person, could be suffering to another. It doesn't fully satisfy me in that I have an answer to the question, "Is my daughter suffering?" but I'm leaning towards a no answer. Yes, she has challenges, but those challenges aren't insurmountable to her, it's just her life. She doesn't complain about being blind and how it's unfair, she just adapts. When the next challenge faces her, she adapts to that too.
The Big Boy Tiny Girl Solar System Project: My children are currently building a model of the solar system. Well, I think it's missing Pluto, which is sad to my husband and me given that we grew up during the "Pluto years." My son could easily do the project without his sister but she needs him. When they do projects like this, they work together quite nicely. Or at least so far they are. As sure as I type this a bolt of disagreement will come hurling out of the blue and afflict them with anger and malice towards each other. When they get past the quarreling and have the project completed though, they'll both be excited to show it to their father and me.
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