Okay, this post is about three days too late for that title. . but it works.
I returned from my 18-day trip to Philadelphia, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, exhausted. But also proud. Though the main purpose of the trip was to sell My Unexpected Life, which I did, I also met new friends and saw old friends—some of whom I have not seen since the 90s!
Mostly in the Midwest, I got to reminisce about times past, mostly through food—like cheese curds or frozen custard. Not only did the treats take me back in time, but so did the beautiful fall landscape. The trees, with their vibrant yellows, reds, and oranges made me remember jumping in a pile of newly-raked leaves and throwing them in the air.
Some of my friends had last seen me when I still walked. It was as if I was meeting them again as a wheelchair user. I saw friends from high school, grad school, and even former neighbors. I re-introduced myself to Minneapolis at The Sculpture Garden
(see photo), and tried to remember how to navigate the city I spent the summer of 1995 in. (It’s totally different now, so I was kinda lost.)
As I rolled into my mother’s new apartment for the first time, two pieces of furniture—the kitchen table and china hutch—startled me. My breath caught seeing items that remain stitched in my memory since I can remember. Although Mom had told me she got them from my brother, who had had them since 1992, seeing them took me to 1991 and a dark brown carpet with patterned squares, where they sat. Over the table was a light fixture with a dull orange glow. The hutch was filled with Mom’s white and silver chinaware and Princess House glassware. Even the olive green pleather cushions on the chairs were still there. Mom joked that one of them was still ripped, reminding me of the hiss that would come as someone sat on that chair.
That table had known as a kid and young adult, but not as a wheelchair user. I remember it as the spot we ate dinner, I did homework, and played cards with my grandma. It was where Mom sat as the doctor told her over the phone I had Friedreich’s ataxia when I was 17. I recalled one winter evening when my siblings all still lived at home, Dad had made us breakfast for dinner. All four of us scrambled to the table to get the fresh-made pancakes. I was 6.
At the time, I didn’t think of whether the table would remember me—why would a table have a memory? But in hindsight, it seemed it did. As we sat at the table for dinner, I pulled forward and my knee hit the side just under the table. It was as if the table had rejected me, this unfamiliar 50-year old in a wheelchair. So I had to make some adjustments and re-approached the witness to my early years.
My boyfriend took my feet off my footplates and folded them up, lowering my knees to clear the wood. I pulled into my spot without argument. I smiled and felt a ripple of warmth nuzzle into me. Yet I was compelled to do something more to prove it was me, the growing girl the table had known.
As Mom reached for a serving spoon, I folded my hands and said, “God is great. God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. Amen.” I prayed before a meal! I haven’t done that since. . .well, I don’t know when, but I know those words were said at that table countless times.
It seemed to help, because I didn’t feel rejection anymore during the visit. My nostalgia furthered when my friend, who I have known since second grade, came to visit me at my mom’s along with her mom. It was so nice reminiscing about the town we once lived in, the teachers that creeped us out, and people we knew.
I told my mom, “this place feels like home to me.” All because of two inanimate objects.
So what’s my point in telling this tale? I’m not completely sure. Other than it’s kind of weird how random things can trigger memory and the time when you were a different person than you are now.
Until the next. . .
P.S. don’t forget to get your copy of My Unexpected Life: Finding Balance Beyond My Diagnosis!!! It’s available as an e-book, on hardcover, or paperback. Then review on Goodreads!
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