My brother, Wheelchair bound, gets excited only by knowing that he is rolled outside of his apartment so that he can get some fresh air and see cars passing by. He is joyful just knowing that his nephews are coming to visit him.
My brother, he is laughing out loud when he sees others laughing at his jokes. He likes the company of others.
He is Wheelchair bound, yet he smiles when you look at him and acknowledge his presence.
He cannot pull himself out of bed.
He cannot feed himself or comb his own hair.
He cannot communicate fluently.
He cannot walk.
But he can make people laugh. He is an encyclopedia full of information. He can remember too much. He forgets little. He is humble, almost sinless. He can teach you to appreciate life more.
My brother knows his condition, and I can’t imagine what goes through his head. Is he thinking: “Why me?” Is he questioning: “Why can’t I enjoy life like others do?” I see him Wheelchair bound, and I feel sad. I want to cry, but cannot, maybe because I have pretended so much not to be touched, I have tried to suppress it, because it hurts too much to see him like this. It hurts too much to be fully aware of the injustice, and I get angry at God.
He is an angel.
He is a mystery.
He represents the suffering of this world.
He is Wheelchair bound.