As time moves forward toward getting an electric wheelchair--a zapoid, as my sister calls it--I am softening. The fierce, defensive woman of days gone by, is leaving. That is good. Her ferocity--her defensiveness--drained me of the energy necessary to shift gears into my new life.
I confess, I do wonder what happened to two people. What happened to the Cub Scout, who is sitting in the background behind my ballerina alterego? I do not remember if I ever knew him. Probably not.
I must confess that for a lifetime, I have tried to tiptoe, ever so quickly, past the reach of him, and others in wheelchairs. May I be forgiven my fear masked in an advocate's bravado. Ever the advocate that others not shun individuals who appear different, I was guilty of the very crime I abhorred.
I knew better.
Given the graceful acceptance of Jean--a coworker, who was beaten to death by her husband--I tried to run from her scooter. Forever etched in my memory is the day we were headed to a lower floor. I opted to take the stairs rather than have to accommodate her scooter--a reality I could not face. Jean was wise. She knew my discomfort. Yet, she never let on. We both knew. Yet, she did not need my comfort--the acceptance I could not give her. Before she died, she offered her friendship should I ever need help accommodating to my body, after I stopped working.
I wonder what happened to a childhood friend--the daughter of my high school vice-principal. Jeannie and I went to Michael Dowling School for Crippled Children--I think. It may have been Courage Center's predecessor, the Curative Workshop. Jeannie had osteogenesis imperfecta. Her brittle bones meant she had to use a wheelchair. She had full use of both hands. We were educated together. We were not crippled. We were not cured of our live's circumstances. None of us is.
Jeannie and I were partners. I was the doorkeeper. She was the handywoman.
I cannot say that I have surrendered completely to my independence. Were I to blame my resistance to complete surrender, I might blame my mother:) A lifelong family joke has been that whatever goes wrong is Mom's fault. Only to the degree that I have heeded my mother's words so long ago, "You will learn to live independently," may I blame my mom. Seriously, I never have. In good conscience, I never could. It is her words that ground me.
I have known an individual, who has worked outside the home in the past. Yet, now she allows partial blindness to be an excuse for not living as fully as she might--for holding her family hostage to her dependence. It is beyond me that she can live that way. It is beyond me that her family does not use their faith to call her on it--to nurture a fuller life for everyone.
Surrender to independence is a tenuous balance to strike. Each of us needs to live in partnership with one another. We are called to make the most of our gifts--live the fullest of our days. We must live in partnership.
We must give what we can, and take what we must.
Surrender to independence calls for a heartfelt confession. Mechanical offerings have no place in a true surrender to absolute independence. I do not claim to have made the surrender to independence that I am called to make. I do see the surface of the confession. Words are given to me pry open the mystery of how to make a surrender to independence without losing one's God-given dignity.
Tempting--alluring--though it be to think, surrender is not a one-time confession to be made at a convenient time of our scheduling. True surrender--true confession--is a call made at inconvenient, humbling moments in our day. When our dignity is compromised, true surrender is God's ransom.
Flailing one's arms and legs as a confession is mechanical. Flailing strips surrender of its dignity. Self-respect deserves dignity. True confession is a commitment--an openness to adjusting ways of living forever.
Independence and dependence are not absolutes. Independence and dependence are not opponents. Absolute independence is not humanly possible to achieve. Absolute dependence may be possible. Honestly, I do not know. Yet, absolute dependence is morally, and ethically unconscionable.
I confess, I do not understand how an individual--how a family--may not strive to achieve some degree of independence--to achieve the fullness of God's gifts. Difficulty---the degree of difficulty--that is involved in making a true confession--from crafting a unique interdependence--is no excuse.
Independence is not a commodity that may be bought off the rack in a store. Independence must be custom made--custom crafted--by calling on God for partnership.
Dependence is not the scrap material of independence. Dependence is interwoven into the fabric of independence. Together, they create our life's tapestry.
May we surrender to interdependence--a partnership with God.
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