Sunday, July 31, 2011
I went to the beach today with my family. The beach was designed with access for the disabled in mind. Sectioned ramps leading down to the sand, tents positioned regularly to provide shade, a marked swimming area at the edge of the ocean with plenty of lifeguards on duty. There were lots of families there. Folks caring for and helping each other. It made me think. Sometimes you can't expect the bright miracle, the obvious victory over tragedy and hardship. The paralyzed man writing a novel using only a tongue switch. The woman who defeats cancer and chemo to maintain her usual hectic pace and professional career. Sometimes the miracle is quieter. You see it in the man who overcomes embarrassment and perseveres in stumbling through his slurred words when meeting someone who will never know the articulate man he used to be. The child who shrieks with joy as she clumsily scoops up handfuls of sand and sea water, barely noticing the woman who supports her weight and guides her movements. The family playing in the ocean together, all disabilities temporarily masked. The mother who decides to stay for children who will never know the choice that she made.