Mom, when will you dance with me? Mom, when will you walk with me? When will you stand up? When will you be done being in a wheelchair?
I knew these questions were coming. They were inevitable, I guess. I kind of expected them down the road a little, like maybe when Zula, my daughter, started to attend school and began to notice that other moms weren’t in wheelchairs. But nope. Here she is, 3 years old and starting to ask me daily, multiple times a day, when I would be “done” being in a wheelchair. The pain of these questions hurts my heart more severely than any knife could. Honestly, I didn’t know what I would say when these questions came. I thought I had longer to think about it. So I kind of surprised myself with my answer, not just because of what it did for her, but what it did, and does, for me.