Amber's Writings

Requiem For Lost Dreams

This was written in response to a thought-provoking question from a friend.  Basically it was what have you had to give up because of your disability?  I don't think some of these quite fit, but this is what came out.  And it will probably be added to.

No one has asked me this question before.  It's kind of scary, but here goes.

I guess the first one would be when I was four years old.  I decided that I'd had enough of the disability which, even by that age I was aware, was disappointing people left and right.  I decided I was going to get up out of my bed and walk.  After all, it happened in the Bible.  So I closed my eyes, and conjured an image of Jesus before me, telling me to walk.  So I rolled out of bed and stood on my own two legs...  for about three seconds.  When I tried to move one leg forward, I went down.  Fortunately, I landed in a sitting position.  So I sat, willing myself not to cry, legs out, back against the bed for two hours.  When they came to get me out of bed, they asked what had happened.  I couldn't tell them.  Somehow, I just knew they wouldn't understand.  So I just said I had rolled out of bed, and laughed when I was called clumsy.

When school started, there came the endless stream of playground games I couldn't play and slumber parties I couldn't attend.  Although, in the lower elementary grades, there was a small core group of kids who made valiant efforts to include me.  They will always remain numbered among my heroes.  Molly, Matt, C.  W., and Kari.

In middle and high school, it was mostly dances I wasn't invited to, and the choir I couldn't be in except for their two local concerts a year, because no one would accommodate me so I could travel with them.  The choir was in middle school.  I got a most improved award and a sunshine award in middle school choir.  Mom told me that must have meant I was really bad before, and that in the second one was a pity award.  I didn't even bother trying out in high school.  But in middle school, the whole choir lined up to give me hugs on my last day of school before moving because they knew I was not able to continue with them into high school.

Then there was a time the disability caused the death of my pet dog.  She ran out the door after a squirrel and into the street.  She wouldn't listen to me, and I couldn't run after her.  I prayed for no car to come, so of course it did.  It was slow-moving enough that if I could've run out in front of it, Jackie would have been safe.  I saw the whole thing.  They locked me in my room because I was screaming hysterically.  I never got to say goodbye.  I was blamed because I accidentally let her out.  She followed me home from preschool one day, and I was just shy of 13 when she died.  March 18, 1991.  I have no idea why I remember the date.

Then came the parade of lost or stolen or unrequited loves, which hasn't ended yet.

Then there's the career related list.  I wanted to be an elementary school teacher, but couldn't keep up with the kids.  I wanted to be a journalist, but was actually told by a journalist that I write too well for journalism.  I wanted to be a programmer, but couldn't keep up with the coding.  I wanted to be a musician, but my body refuses to cooperate.  I wanted to be a mother.  I wanted to be competition for Oprah.

If I had no limits on money or anything, I would build an accessible creative arts Center, with rooms for just about everything you can imagine.  I have it all planned out in my hand.  I have an accessible house or two all planned out as well.