A Word to the Disabled

A WORD TO THE DISABLED

I wasn't disabled myself

But I was, briefly,

Semi-disabled.

A blur of gray,

An attempt to turn and spin and brake

And a crash.

A compact car loses

To a full-size truck.

I stare at my arm

And my displaced hand.

With numbness,

Then shock.

"Shattered,"

The doctor said;

"Not your typical break."

Lids don't turn;

Tops don't pop;

Tab don't pull.

Not for months, not easily.

Not with that left arm.

I learn that life is more difficult

When I can't open the diced tomatoes

With my hand can opener.

Having to learn new ways

Of putting on shirts

And not even wearing some,

Because it was too hard,

Is part of a process, too.

I've gotten better.

Fortunately, if not young,

Despite my PT's words,

I'm not old.

I'm healing

And looking at full recovery.

But, I've learned, 

At least briefly,

What it's like to be semi-disabled,

And gained

A bit of empathy

For the fully disabled.

It's not just physical challenges, 

Or so it seems.

Fear. Anxiety. Frustration.

Many other emotions.

And, to the disabled —

I hope I remember

At least a bit of what I have learned.

You don’t want patronization

Any more than pity.

You’d like respect, and understanding,

Along with sympathy.

Even better — empathy, if possible.

Above all, you’d simply

Like to be seen as human.

And not a mascot,

Not an “always on” inspiration,

Or otherwise on a pedestal.

Simply human.

With the full gamut

Of human emotions

And human drives.

I hope I remember.

If I don’t,

Especially if I know you personally —

Please remind me.