An odd little encounter.
I was driving north, home from a lunch of the best portobello fajitas in the world, on Yonge Street. A woman with a white cane was coming confidently down the street. I knew we were going to collide. My chair is silent. I was on a sidewalk where I couldn't move over because of snow drifts. I could have called out, of course, but I was running so quickly through solutions, I forgot the obvious one. So, it happened she bumped into me.
'Oh, my, I'm sorry,' she said, startled.
'No, really, I'm sorry,' I said, quickly.
'You are in a wheelchair,' she said, with a question in her voice.
'I am,' I said confirming her suspicions.
'Thank heavens, if I'm going to mess up, I like to mess up with family,' she said with warmth in her voice.
'I feel that way too,' I said.
She left me smiling. I'd felt embraced by the warmth of her voice. I'd felt touched by the expectation of mutual understanding. I'd felt like I'd been given a gift. A valuable gift. Kinship