It has just over one week since lives were changed forever at the Boston Marathon. Lives forever changed in so many ways:
1) Lives lost.
2) Lives with new disabilities inserted, though nothing was done wrong by those who now have the disabilities. Isn't that often the case? Disability enters life without warning, through no fault of the person who “receives” disability?
3) Unmet dreams... those who didn’t finish due to the chaos.
Perhaps those who did not finish will return. But perhaps this was their shot at their dream. Perhaps they are left feeling as though they were so close to their dream, but they will never get it.
As I went through last week, though my life is not at all the same, memories came flooding back.
Memories took me to the morning I awoke to legs feeling as though they had pins and needles all over them. Disability entered without warning, through no fault of mine. At that time, I thought I had slept wrong.
Unmet dream of never running under 19 minutes, yet coming so close. So close, not ready for disability.
Sadness. Anger. Not at those who did this at Boston.
Rather, sadness at disability robbing ability.
On Thursday, anger out of nowhere… why anger? Anger at those unmet dreams. I wasn’t done running yet. Ability taken from me too soon, not my fault. I wanted to tell everyone to just leave me alone, go away, I didn't want to talk.
People continue, move on, pursue new dreams, show disability isn’t an end.
Then, out of nowhere, events bring back memories and tears.
To me, I wanted some people to disappear and let me be in my own space. Boston was not some "wow, let's hear what's happening now" random series of events. I personally don't care who did it. And it's a bad time to discuss guns and immigration. Time to turn off the news which now focuses on who. To me, now is about supporting those whose lives have been forever changed, and continuing to support them for perhaps their entire lives.
Give people space; you don't know who is needing it for whatever reason. Ask how people are and continue to ask, because disability can be forever.
Never forget. Disability. Boston. Connecticut. Aurora. Virginia. Columbine.
Moments of pause.
And also, begin to heal, in whatever way that means.