Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Lifted

There’s a small boy in my school, a sixth grader, who rides around in a tiny little wheelchair and has a one-on-one aide to help him. Every day I see him leaving school; he wheels cheerfully outside with his aide and his mother picks him up in her van. He can walk; I’m not sure exactly why he’s in the wheelchair; it has something to do with his bones breaking easily.

Yesterday, I left right at dismissal and I passed the mother’s van just in time to see her lifting her small boy in through the side door. In a split-second interval I watched a choreography that the two of them have rehearsed every day -- how many times, how many days, of this? -- The boy, standing straight and stiff in front of his mother, so that she could wrap her arms around him and, a small person herself, gently hoist him up into the van. There was so much poetry in his simple, patient, expectant pose; in her sure and steady balance. The routine fluidity of the movement told a story; In that fraction of a moment I secretly witnessed the simple dance of love between a mother and her beautiful, bright-eyed, breakable boy.

5 comments:

Creatrix (aka Jennifer) said...

An amazing moment, easily missed, yet you saw its sacredness. wow.

Priestess~Harper said...

Thank you ~ this post made me cry and that is beautiful. *gentle smile*

dawn said...

What a lovely post.

Dana said...

This is a remarkably sad, sweet, uplifting story. Some mothers do so much for their children, others, even more sadly, don't or can't...

feminine expressions said...

how lovely for you to bring us into the dance by sharing the story...