by Amy Casseaux
Well, the crying part was over - mostly. I was way past denial because when you can't see, denying that you're blind is a fruitless exercise - a waste of time. There was some residual anger left, and my offer to the Gods (I hadn't been particular which ones) had been turned down, so bargaining was behind me. Acceptance was all that was left. Acceptance and depression, that is.
No, let's change the sequence. Residual anger, full blown depression, and the knowledge that acceptance was on the way. That was where I was right now. That was why I was lingering in the bathroom: I just needed a few more seconds to pull it all together.
"Hon, you all right?", I heard through the door.
I flushed unnecessarily, both by way of reply and as a way of covering one last sob. I softly cleared my throat, wiped my nose, and called out, "Be right there."
Once I had stood and settled my clothing, I opened the door and could sense him right there. "Love you, Bob, but you're hovering."
He backed away and I went to the sink and washed my hands, then dried them. Next to the sink was my cane, which I unfolded and used to orient. "Are we all packed up?"
"Wheelchair's on the way."
I must have frowned because he added, "Hospital rules, Hon."
"I know."
My assurances that I could walk just fine (Dammit! My eyes are dead, not my legs!) were ignored by all. A few minutes later, I was being wheeled downstairs to the hospital entrance, or in my case, the exit. I could hear the flag snapping in the wind and the rope slapping against the pole. The normally humid air was heavily ionized, a sign of impending rain. It's that quasi-magical time just before a storm, when the air seems to be alive with life. If you have the time to listen, you hear answers to questions both asked and unasked on the wind. I had already received my answers from the doctors a few hours earlier and in any case, we didn't have the time today. We needed to get off of the island to avoid the hurricane that was almost on top of us. I sat in the wheelchair with the nurse and we chatted while Bob went to bring the car around.
What I really wanted most was to curl up into a ball and cry for a few days. I needed to mourn, to grieve, but right now I had no choice but to hang tough.
I could hear when Bob drove up because the truck has a squeaky fan belt when the A/C is running. I stood up, used my cane to orient, and received a hug from Carrie, the nurse who had been so nice. With Bob's unnecessary help, I got into the truck and we pulled away from John Sealy Hospital. I settled in the seat, trying to get comfortable for what was to be a long drive. The radio was on, giving information on the storm's location and impending path of travel.
"... outbound causeway from Galveston Island to the mainland has been temporarily shut down due to a collision with a shrimp boat. Engineers are assessing damage at this time. Authorities are closing the inbound side so that outgoing traffic can be diverted, but traffic is backed up heavily and all cars will have to be backed off of the outbound causeway first. Vehicles in line for the Port Bolivar Ferry are currently experiencing a two hour wait with all five boats running. At last report, the San Luis Pass was open but with heavy traffic travelling slowly. Storm surge is beginning and ..."
I could already hear the heavy rain pelting the truck and we were being rocked by the wind as we sat in traffic.
Bob said, "Hon, We're not getting out this way. The things is, I'm not sure the ferries will still be running by the time we can get aboard one, and even so, we'd be stuck on the coastal road for about a good twenty miles before we could turn inland. We'd be behind everyone else and we might get caught on the road when the main storm hits. San Luis is even worse because the storm's gonna be hitting somewhere between High Island and Quintana. We'd be on the wet side. I think we might be smarter to go home and ride it out there.
"I know we have the generator, but how are we fixed for supplies?"
It wasn't as if I had been doing any shopping this whole week. I'd been lying flat on my back, as motionless as possible, and praying that the surgery had worked.
"Betty and Mike are staying. I wrote Betty a check and she laid in supplies for us. I wasn't sure if you'd be released in time, so I got us covered."
"Let's head home then. Stop by Mario's and let's get a pizza to go. I'm starving."
"Sounds good to me."
The wind had begun to howl by now and the truck was rocking. Because I've lived on the island for most of my life, I knew that we were close to home. It came as no surprise when Bob announced that we were at Mario's already.
"Do you want to get out in the rain or wait here?"
Sweet man. What he was really asking was, did I want to face all of our friends now, or did I want to put off all the discussions and reactions to the news that I would never see again.
"There may be a wait if Angela and Mario are busy. We can listen to the news."
I know I flinched when I caught myself say listen instead of watch. I was doing it already. I was "blinding" my speech. The social worker told me I'd go through that phase.
Bob acted as if had not noticed. Maybe he didn't. I don't know. He came around and guided me inside and led me to a seat.
"Bobby! Just the man I need!"
I recognized the voice of Mario D'Agastino, our friend and the owner of Mario's Flying Pizza. "Jess is stuck over on Pelican Island at the shipyards. Can you get me over there?"
"If the bridge is still passable. If not, can she get a ride across the inlet and meet us at pier 21?"
"Last boat already went. She thought she could make it, but her car won't start."
"Then let's do it." That was my love. Anything for a friend, anything for family. He didn't ask me if I would be okay, not from a lack of caring, but because he knows me that well. He knew that I react the same way. When the people you love need you, you go.
"Hon," I felt his hand on my shoulder, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Angela's here and so is Marie."
"Go! I'll be fine. Mario?"
"Right here, Pammy." I could hear the gum chewing.
"You take care of my guy or I'll kick your butt."
"You'll have to find it first, Pammy. We'll be back soon."
Before I could reply, I heard the storm and the door slam shut, then the truck roar to life outside. You want to know the mark of a real friend? It's one that won't treat you any differently after a life altering experience. Mario knows I hate to be called Pammy. Likewise, the fact that he would make a joke about me being blind told me that nothing has changed between us. It was good to have friends like that.
About a year ago, I began to see spots in my vision. It was like looking through a window with little flecks of paint on it. Things seemed to be getting darker too, and I kept turning on more lights to see. Then the headaches came. I had feared a brain tumor because my Dad had died from one after lots of treatments and surgery and misery. The doctor was surprised when I laughed from relief when I found out I was merely going blind. I didn't laugh for very long before the reality set in that I was going to be blind.
As the weeks passed, the flecks became spots. Then I lost my night vision completely, and soon then I only had flecks of vision left. Vision was like a photo with holes burned in it. My Opthamologist had given very slim chances or reattaching my retinas once the detachment was complete. I had to wait until it happened. Until then I had to slowly go blind and wait.
The second doctor and the third confirmed it and I made preparations for the day it happened. I ordered computer software for our insurance agency, learned how to use it, made sure I could still sell insurance and maintain a living. Then I called the Lighthouse in Houston and scheduled my training. I learned how to use a cane and how to read braille and how to cook and do all sorts of things. I had been grimly set on being as independent as possible.
My marriage suffered a little because, unconsciously, I began pushing Bob away. Part of it was an effort to make sure I could do for myself. I kept rebuffing his offers of help. In my heart of hearts, I had been afraid he'd leave me. Bob is great man. He took about all he could then he sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms that he was going to be at my side for the rest of our lives whether I wanted him to or not.
How could I not want that?
I heard Angela call out, "Aunt Pam? You want the usual?"
"Yeah, make it a large and add a side of lasagna. Hospital food'll kill you either from flavor poisoning or starvation."
"I know, I deliver about a dozen pizzas there a week - usually right after dinner. Let me put this in the oven and I'll come sit for a moment."
"Okay."
I sat and waited, listening to one of those trashy day time talk shows where everyone screams and fights. To this day, I have no idea why someone would want to watch that. Maybe America is becoming trashy. Hearing no other customers, I got up and made my way to the big screen TV. Standing, I proceeded left three tables, my hand in front of me until I came to the wall. Then I turned right . One, two, three, four, five, six, seven paces to the TV.
I know where Mario keeps the remote. I found it, and then pressed two and seven. I was rewarded with the weather channel. Once I'd returned the remote, I made my way back to my table where I heard little Marie say, "Aunt Pam! You got your eyes fixed!"
"No, Sweetheart, they're still broken."
How do you explain detached retinas to a five year old?
"But you walked to the TV without your cane. You changed the channels."
"I just knew where it was, Marie. I still can't see."
"I don't understand."
"C'mere, Sweetheart."
She climbed in to my lap. "Oh, you're getting to be a big girl!"
I felt around on the table. "Watch me, sweetheart."
I reached out and touched the napkin holder, then the two dispensers beside them and the salt shakers on the other side. "Watch my hand, honey, I'm touching the napkin holder, now the romano and the dried pepper flakes.
"I know what I'm touching 'cause every table has them. There's packets of sugar and the salt and pepper shakers. They're always there, just like the TV. That's how I found the TV."
"Oh."
I pulled the dispensers closer and told Marie to close her eyes. I held one to my nose then hers. "What do you smell?"
"Cheese."
"And now?"
"Peppers."
"That's how I tell, too. By smell."
"Oh." I could almost sense her trying to understand. "But Mommy said the doctors were going to fix your eyes. Why didn't they?"
"Ma-ree!!!" I heard Angela approach.
"It's okay.", I assured her. Where Mario and his wife Jessica had the maturity to understand that I was still the same friend I had always been, and where Marie had the innocence of wonder at all things, Angela was still getting over being creeped out by my disability. She was sixteen, trying to figure out life and wondering what it must be like to live without vision.
Hey, it took me a while, too, so I was inclined to be patient. She still had the tendency to speak a little bit louder, explain everything and offer a blow by blow account of everything around me, as if trying to make up for my not being able to see everything. Even before I lost the last of my vision, she kept wanting to lead me places, even though I knew my way around. I finally had to sit her down and explain how much help I needed and asked to wait until I asked unless I was in some kind of danger. It was so funny because, later that same night, I'd stepped neatly and nonchalantly off the pier into the harbor and Angela had been the first to dive in after me and guide me back. We both laughed about that one.
Once, when Bobby had been tied up, Angela had driven me to an O&M session in Houston. At the time, I could no longer drive nor see in the dark, but I still had to wear a blindfold for training. Angela had shyly asked what it was like, and the instructor had offered her five minutes with the blindfold and cane to find out. One pass through the confidence course and she had all but freaked out. All the way home, I could sense her tension and hear her breathing sharply. Poor kid.
I remember that day, on the way home, she had asked, "When you put the blindfold on..."
"Yes?". I'd prompted.
"...are you ever afraid that when you take it off, you'll have lost everything while It was on? Y'know, like take it off, but not get your vision back?"
"Every time. Same thing when I go to sleep at night. I wonder if I'll wake up completely blind the next morning."
"Doesn't that scare you?"
"Yeah, it sure does."
"How do you deal with it?"
"Because I have no real choice."
"How do you keep from just curling up in a ball and... I don't know... just giving up?"
"Because I have a husband and son that need me and a life and people I care for and I can't have any of those things if I just give up."
"Do you ever want to die?"
"No, because I've seen death and I don't want that. I'm not ready for it yet."
We rode in silence the rest of the way.
Looking back to that day, I began to see a change in Angela, she began to withdraw from things and people somewhat. Now as Marie sat on my lap and tried to make sense of my not seeing, Angela wanted mostly to go back to the kitchen to avoid me and my blindness, but sat with me out of courtesy. I didn't blame her. Right now I wanted food, my husband, and my bed at home where I could just give in and cry until I was done. If I could cry in my bed and have my husband hold me while I ate and cried, it would be perfect.
Marie was determined to get to the bottom of the matter. She asked, "Well, if you can't see, how do you know what's there?"
"Marie, knock it off!"
"It's okay." I said. I held my hand in front of Marie's face. "What do you see?"
"Your hand."
"How many fingers?" I wiggled them.
"Five."
I moved my hand to her back. "Can you see my hand now?"
"No."
"How many fingers do I have?", I asked as I gently pressed them into her back."
"Five."
"That's how I know. What you see of my hand right now is what I see of my hand."
"I can't see your hand."
"But you can feel it, right? That's what I do."
"Oh. How did you know what was on this table was the same as before?"
I wasn't going to say it was because her father had never changed anything in all the years I'd known him. "Same way I know the sun will come up tomorrow. Because it's always been that way."
"Oh."
Marie hopped down and wandered off, her attention span exhausted. Angela said she had to go check the oven. I listened to the weatherman say that the storm had picked up both relative speed and internal velocity, increasing to a category five storm. No longer distracted by little Marie, I began to worry about Bob.
He was probably creeping along at two miles a hour with no visibility (irony!), trying to get to Jessica. I hoped he was alright. Suddenly the TV stopped, the ceiling fans slowed and the usual hum that went with the establishment went away.
"Angela?"
"Angie?!?" that was Marie.
"It's nothing. We lost power. I need to go turn the generator on. Give me a couple of minutes because I need to do some things in the kitchen first."
I heard things moving and clattering. "Dad said I have to turn everything off before I start the generator. If it has too big a power load at startup, it'll blow a fuse."
No stranger to hurricanes, I knew this, but I was glad that she did, too. I could probably get it started myself if I absolutely had to, but had no desire to try it right now.
"I'll be right back." I heard and then the door whooshed open and slammed shut. Where the hell was Bob? Why hadn't we gone straight home? It was only two blocks away.
Marie was sniffling, so I got up and used my cane as I made my way to her. I found her and got down on the floor with her, holding her. No sooner had I done so than I heard and felt an enormous booming crash and I felt the wind a second before flying glass hit my arms and my face. I screamed, first in surprise then in pain. Little Marie followed suit, but in pure terror. Gently I tried to brush away the glass from my hair and hers. I knew I was a mess. I had cuts all over. Marie was screaming now, undoubtedly from the blood. I rocked her and tried to calm her down. There wasn't much more I could do for her. I knew Angela would be able to clean her up as soon as she got back. I clung to this thought for a minute or two until it occurred to me that I should have heard from Angela by now.
Not that I could hear much over the storm and the various objects flying about the room. Chairs and tables scooted and fell over, silverware clattered. Things were getting worse, yet somehow, I managed to hear the screams from outside.
It was Angela.
"Marie, I have to go help Angela. Here, turn your face to the wall, and cover your head with your hands. That's it. I'll be right back."
I realized that Angela had said the same thing, as had Mario and Bob. Marie would need counseling when this was over. Talk about abandonment issues! I might share a session or two.
I found my cane, cutting my fingers in the process, and stood up. No time for that now. I located a table cloth and shook it free of glass, then covered Marie up in it. I was guessing that the big bay window that overlooked the harbor had been broken by some flying debris. I made my way along the wall to the back door pushing tables and chairs out of my path. I could hear Angela scream again and cry. I had to hurry, but at the same time, I had to be careful. I didn't bother with raingear because I was already soaked. I went outside and followed the building to the right, where Mario kept the generator and the Jet-skis that he rented in the summer. I had to be careful because the restaurant was on a hill that led down to the pier. Mostly I homed in on the sound of Angela crying.
Step by step, I tried not to be blown away as I called out to her. No answer, just crying.
I found the shed and smelled smoke and fumes. The boom I'd heard had been an explosion.
"Angela?"
"No! Not you! I don't want to be like you!"
Not like me? I oriented to the sound of her voice as she kept screaming NO! over and over.
"Angela?! What happened?"
She kept crying like the end of the world, which is what the storm was beginning to sound like as objects went flying outside the shed. The fumes were dissipating at least. I found her scrunched up in a ball. I felt her and found her hands clamped tightly over her face. That was when I understood. She'd been burned in the explosion and she couldn't see!
Like Marie inside, I cradled her in my arms and rocked, trying to calm her. I had no way of assessing the injury. All I could offer was emotional support, which is what I did until I felt boards first slap back and forth, then fly away from the shed as they came un-nailed.
"Angela, we've got to get back inside!" I shouted over the wind. No response. I shouted again, but by now she'd gone limp. Either from pain or shock, she'd passed out. That was bad. Shock can kill.
With no other viable choice, I began to carry and drag her back inside the restaurant. Halfway there (as if I really knew where I was), a gust caught me off guard and we both rolled down the hill to the pier where it was all I could do to keep us out of the water. Then a big wave hit and we were in the water.
This was way beyond sucky. This was really terrifying and if I'd actually taken a half second to think about the situation, I'd probably have panicked and drowned us both. I kept my hold on Angela and made my way to the boat ramp, praying that I had picked the right direction. The waves kept coming from the left and I kept getting slammed into the side of the slip on my right. It was a hard way to get orientation, but I was headed in the right direction. I found the ramp. The waves pushed us out and up, then pulled us back in. I kept fighting, then we were on the pier.
Dragging Angela, I crawled to the steps and then we crawled up them. On the plus side, there was a railing and I knew that the steps led to the back door. It seemed to take forever, but I managed to get us inside where Marie was now screaming, not that I blamed her. With no energy left to walk and carry her, I crawled across the debris and dragged Angela into the kitchen area where it was warm, then I went back for Marie.
With her help, I got dry tablecloths and linens, the latter of which, I wetted and applied to Angela's face. It was all I could do. With that done, I got Marie and a pizza and the lasagna that Angela had made and we huddled together to keep Angela warm. I ate as if I hadn't eaten in days. My body was screaming for protein. With food and companionship, Marie calmed down a little.
It seemed like days passed, but there we sat until we heard the front door open and Mario and Bob's voices calling for us.
"In the kitchen!", I shouted.
"Holy Shit!" That was Mario. Hands found me, helped me up. I felt Bob hug me like he'd never done before.
"Angela's burned, I think. Marie may have some serious cuts. We've got to get to the hospital."
"You don't look so good yourself. Follow me. No wait. Wait here with Marie. Hold your cane. We'll be right back."
"That's what you said last time!"
I knew they were carrying Angela out to the truck and would came back for us. A minute later they did. Bob led me and Mario carried little Marie out to the truck. Mario drove and Jess held Angela while Bob, Marie and I huddled under a tarp in the back. I'd had it by that point, I just held on to Bob and cried. A day like this is too much. It's not fair to be blind and have to rescue people and nearly drown.
Ordinarily in stories like the world would go dark for me, but that had pretty much already happened. As it was, I had no recollection of being carried into the ER, of being undressed and dried off or of wrapped up in a blanket. I vaguely remember a stinging sensation in my arm, then something tugging at it.
"Huuh?", I asked.
"Hold still. You have two more cuts on this arm that need sutures. You slept through the others. In addition to some scalp lacerations, you have a large cut on one cheek, but I don't think it'll be noticeable once it heals. I do very good work."
"Who's there?"
"I'm Dr. Garb. I'm on staff here. I'm a cosmetic surgeon. They've got me helping out in the ER since I can't get home. You had us scared before we realized you had more tomato sauce on you than blood."
"I get sloppy when I'm exhausted. Besides, lasagna is not finger food."
"Noooo.... I would have to say it is not. Once we cleaned you off, we found bruises from what looks like a train wreck."
"I'm clumsy - sue me. Angela?"
"Just you and me. Your husband is getting his arm casted. It seems he broke it rescuing your friend earlier today."
"No. Angela D'Agastino. Do you know how she is?"
Silence.
"Dr. Garb, if you know, please tell me."
"You're family?", he asked
"Her mother and I have known each other since we were two. She's the closest thing I have to a sister. Angela grew up calling me Aunt Pam."
Garb sighed. "She has some flash burns to her face and her hands and arms. She lost her eyebrows and some hair from the flash burns. Minor first degree mostly, but second degree in a spot or two. There is some damage to her corneas. We're in wait-and-see mode. There's not much we can do here. As soon as the storm passes, they'll either life-flight her or drive her into Hermann or St. Luke's in Houston."
"Her corneas? She's blind?"
"At the moment, yes. Her eyes are bandaged and she's been sedated."
I slipped into a moment of self pity. "Sweet Goddess, is the whole world going blind like me?"
"Not if my colleagues and I can prevent it."
"Can I go to her?"
"As soon as I get you wrapped up."
We spent the night huddled around Angela's bed, as if our presence were a talisman, an act of faith protecting her from bad news yet to come. The storm continued to rage, but we were beyond it's reach now. I held Angela's hand sending energy, prayer, good wishes, and anything else I could. With my other hand I clung to the pentacle necklace I wore and prayed.
I'd had almost a year to get used to the idea of being blind, to come to terms with the reality of it, and yet when the morning came that I opened my eyes and saw nothing, I still screamed. When the news that the surgery had been unsuccessful (Sweet Gaia, had that only been hours ago?), Bob held me while I cried and began the mourning process anew. I didn't want Angela to wake up and see nothing, but I knew that was what would happen and would continue to happen until the Eye Doctors in Houston had a chance to examine her. Cornea transplants were possible and sometimes, the damage heals with time. I held to these thoughts through the night.
I guess I dozed some. I was in the bathroom when the inevitable happened. Angela woke up and realized what had happened. The screaming and crying began again. Like everyone else there, I tried to comfort her, but she shouted at me to get away.
"I don't want to be like you!" Those were the pertinent words that stayed in my mind. Little Marie and Bob led me down the hall and to the elevators, where we went down to the cafeteria.
I sat with Marie while Bob ordered. How would he manage to bring the food back with one arm in a sling? Someone would help, undoubtedly.
"What's gonna happen to Angie?"
I took a deep breath and let it out. "The doctors will try to help her, Sweetheart. We'll have to wait and see."
"Will her eyes work?"
"I don't know."
"Will she have to use a cane like you?"
"I ... " How to answer? "Time will tell, Sweetheart. We'll have to wait."
And wait we did. With no way to go home and no way of knowing if our home was still there, we sat in the solarium, in the cafeteria, we walked the hallways, and when the storm abated, we went outside for fresh air. Once again, the sun had come out.
Like a turtle poking it's head out of its shell, the island came back to life. Bob and Mario went home for things like fresh clothes and to check on damage. Bob's pager and cell phone would soon be going off as people began to file claims for their storm damaged homes. Mario had a restaurant to restore.
As predicted, Angela was life-flighted along with another patient into Houston. Jessica went with her. I stayed and cared for Marie, and answered phones. Keeping busy was probably good for me. Marie was a good kid, but she was a five year old and keeping up with her was a full time job. I stole a few minutes to call my son Stephen in Austin and let him know we were all safe and how the surgery had turned out. He offered to skip some classes and come home, but I told him to study hard and pass his tests. Bob spent the day with clients, mostly on speakerphone so he could write with his good hand. Dinner came from the freezer and the microwave.
That night, I lay in bed thinking about me about the last day or so, about Bob and Stephen, about Jessica, and Mario and Angela. Just knowing that I would be blind forever was like a waking nightmare of sorts and now it was going to happen to Angela. I relived those horrible moments in the water, trying not to drown or let go of Angela. How had I, a blind woman, managed all that?
I remembered a proverb that one of my covenmates had once quoted: The Gods temper the winds for the shorn sheep. I guess I'm supposed to gave faith that they won't throw anything at me that I can't handle. I had handled it, after all.
Another day passed, then two before I answered the phone and I heard Jessica's voice.
"Pam, it's me."
"How is she?"
A pause. "They placed her on the recipient list for corneas. They don't know when a match will become available. I guess we have to wait for someone to die with the right blood and tissue type."
"Oh, Jess... "
"They won't sedate her anymore. They say she needs to accept it. I'm at my wit's end. I don't know what to do."
"I understand."
"Her face will heal. It's really no worse than bad sunburn except around her eyes. It will be a few months, but she'll look like normal."
"Good. Can I help?"
"I just need a friend right now. Can you get Bob to bring you in tonight? And Marie?"
"Of course."
Angela had stopped the hysterics by the time I got there that night, but she was deeply in self pity mode. I motioned for Jessica and everyone to leave. Once I was alone with Angela, I said, "You need to snap out of this and move forward. There's a process for grieving and you'll go through it. I'll help you if I can, if you'll let me, but you have to take the first step."
"Oh, fuck off!"
I quickly reached out, found her arm, found her stomach, then brought the back of my hand up sharply to her chin. She shouted in pain. In my anger, I'd momentarily forgotten the burns.
The door opened and I heard Jessica. "Angela?"
"Get out! Stay out!" I ordered. Wow, I'd never heard that tone in my voice before. The door quickly closed.
I turned back to my honorary niece and said, "I haven't spanked you in a long time, young lady, but don't think I won't, and don't think I can't. You got dealt a shitty hand by life, but it doesn't give you the right to hurt the people who love you."
"My life is over!"
"No, it's not, it's just different. It's a lot harder, yes, and a lot of fun has gone out of it, but it's not over yet and the fun part comes back in time. Whether you can see it or not, the sun will come up tomorrow and you're gonna have to get dressed and go about life just like everyone else."
"Everyone else isn't blind!"
It came from my mouth before I could stop it, "No, but you are."
There it was. The verbal slap to go along with the physical one I'd given her. I heard her gasp as if punched in the gut. It was the first time that she heard it without it being softened.
"That's right. You're blind. B-l-i-n-d blind... and so am I and neither one of us can do much about it. Don't take a pity trip on me because unlike you, my blindness is permanent. I'll never see again. No new corneas for me. No hope whatsoever of seeing again. This time next year you might have 20-20 vision, so I have no pity for you."
It came softly. "What if I don't? What I don't ever see again?"
"Then life goes on, sweetheart. They'll put a stick in your hand so you can find walls and curbs and furniture. They'll teach you to read bumps on paper, and you'll learn to hold on to other people's arms and walk at their side. Other people will do the driving. No more bikes, no more skateboards. You'll stub your toes, bump into things and cut yourself, and trip and fall. Then you'll get up - just like everyone else. "
I softened my voice, but there was still an edge to it. "You'll meet people who will be afraid of you, who will pity you, who will feel superior to you, and some who will accept you and love you - just like everyone else. You'll meet boys, fall in love and cry when it doesn't work out - just like everyone else."
"I'm afraid."
"Join the club. When the window blew in, I was afraid. When I went out to find you, I was afraid. When the two us fell in the harbor and drowned, I was afraid. When we sat in the kitchen waiting for help to arrive and I couldn't do anything for you but pray, I was afraid. It's called the human condition."
"But how do you do it all?"
"Because I have no choice."
That was when I realized I was talking to myself as much as I was to her. "No. That's not true. I do have a choice. I can live life as best as I can, or I can mope in a corner and let it pass me by. That doesn't suit me. I know where Bob keeps his guns. I could find one, load it, and blow my brains out, but that doesn't suit me either."
"Yeah, but you're older, you already had a life."
"Yeah, I have good memories. I met a man, fell in love and married him. We made a life together. I had a son, and we raised him. We went on trips and I saw things, so yeah, I had a life. Guess what? I still do. None of that has changed and I still have memories yet to come. One day Steve will get married and I'll hug and kiss his wife and welcome her to the family. When they have kids, I'll get to hold them and play with them while they grow up. Yes, I have memories and I'll make more. They'll be different, but they won't be any less treasured."
Angela was silent, then I felt her hand groping for mine. I held it and she cried. I climbed onto the bed and held her. The process had started.
= = = = = = = = = = =
I heard the sound of the cane as it came tapping down the steps to the dock. The sound paused, then shifted, then came closer.
"Here."
I reached out and accepted the coffee mug, thanking her. Angela sat in the chair beside me.
"What did the health inspector say?"
"He said I make a good pizza and I'm as sanitary as most kitchen help. He tore up the complaint. He said he'd tell the man who complained to eat somewhere else if he was stupid or eat here if he was smart."
"Sounds like you have it under control."
"So long as Dad does the oven work, yeah. I keep burning myself or dropping pizzas when I try."
"Been a hell of a year."
"It has at that."
"I heard there's a storm coming up the gulf. Might hit here or Sabine Pass."
"We haven't been washed away yet. We'll make it through this one, too. The sun will come out again."
"Someone will tell us when it happens."
"Roosters are good for that."
In the last year, we'd gotten the word from two different doctors. It was permanent. New corneas would not help. Like me, she'd had to repeat the grieving cycle. I stood with her when she got her training. At each new challenge, I pushed her hard and when she succeeded we'd celebrate in some way. On the final day of training, after she went through the course by herself, I handed my cane to the instructor and made her lead me through it. We made it through all the challenges the first time, perfectly. This was no mean feat because the instructors keep moving the barriers and challenges around. It's a little different each time. Then we repeated the street test with me on her arm. Without my cane and offering no advice, she passed again, perfectly.
To celebrate we went on a totally independent shopping spree at the Houston Galleria, a four story shopping mall. Cab drivers and mall cops led or directed us door to door. Sales clerks helped us find things and identified colors. Then we found the food court, ordered, and carried our order to a table - alone. No help was requested or given. We laughed because we kept inventing new challenges and meeting them. We went to the lower level where the ice rink was, rented skates and blind skated - with instructors nearby, I'm sure. We followed the edge, using our canes and holding on to each other for dear life, laughing the whole time. I'm certain people watched us and thought we were crazy. We both learned that life goes on.
Angela went to school as usual with someone from social services to check her assignments and help with work that needed translating or more detailed explanations. Proms and homecomings came and went with the usual hunt for special dresses and earrings and trips to the hair stylist. If dates were more seldom, they were no less enjoyed. Like me Angela learned not to let things like not being able to see get in the way of life.
As we sat on the pier, I took a sip of my coffee and heard Angela sip hers. We could hear seabirds caw as the boats shifted in their slips.
I asked, "Still scared?"
"All the time."
"Me, too."