Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A Bicycle Built for Two

There is a lady who comes into work once or twice a year. She has been coming into work for as long as I can remember. She is somewhat crippled from what I'm guessing was a stroke many years ago. She walks dragging one leg behind her, one side of her face is deformed and although she can speak, she is really hard to understand, and as far as I can tell she has very limited use of one arm. Whenever she comes into the nursery, she is with one of her children. They are her lifeline. Every few years, when another child turns 16, chauffeur duties change. Never once in all of the years that I've helped this family, have I ever heard one of the kids say an unkind, or an impatient thing towards their mother. I've been amazed at the apparent unending love they have for their mother.

I should know her name, but I don't. I have always thought she is an incredibly beautiful woman. I saw her a few months ago, at lunch with some friends. They were helping to feed her. I was touched by their love as well. I only remember seeing her husband once or twice. The first time I saw him I was impressed by him. He is a tall and very handsome man. I remember wondering what it must be like for him...to have a wife with so many obvious disabilities. I remember hoping that he loved her...the undying kind of love that overcomes any disability.

A few weeks ago I was walking along a trail in Provo Canyon. When the weather is nice the trail is crowded with bike riders and runners, and those of us who pretend to be runners. I noticed a bike rider coming my way. He was going slower than most, and I realized that it was because he was pulling something - and someone - behind him. As he got closer I recognized him. It was the husband of my customer. And behind him, in a custom built wagon of sorts, was his wife. She was bundled in a blanket, and she was as happy as I've ever seen her. Her smile was beautiful and the whole scene made me just a little teary-eyed.

In that moment I knew that he did love her...the undying kind of love that overcomes any disability.

1 comment:

David G. Woolley said...

You, my dear, dear, friend, are required to pass out kleenex when you write from your heart. Next time warn me ahead of time or send some fedex.

Love you,