As a new year began, I said goodbye to everyone at the group home and gratefully turned in my keys. I gave myself the gift of time to live in the moment, connect with loved ones, and take better care of myself. I aimed for the lower headache level I had before the manager job.
A few weeks later, I was invited to a birthday party at the group home. It was good to see the residents again, but it also was nice to leave, with no responsibility for their lives. Not long after, the resident at the group home with the feeding tube passed away and I attended his funeral. I cried during his sister’s eulogy as she described his joyful greeting when she visited him, something I had the privilege to witness.
From our home in Ohio, I kept in touch with Beth while she finished her first official season with the Harvard Women’s Swimming and Diving (HWSD) team.
Harvard was famous for extraordinary professional connections. Beth found that to be true, but she appreciated other associations as well. For her twentieth birthday in April, the college’s shuttle bus drivers pitched in to surprise her with a bouquet of flowers. Even at 6 a.m. on the way to the pool, Beth conversed pleasantly with the drivers and always thanked them. She became friends with the bus dispatcher, Bonnie, who also used a wheelchair. At the dispatcher’s request, Beth spoke at two Boston schools. Bonnie attended HWSD home meets with her young daughters, and the girls asked Beth to autograph their meet programs.
In the spring, she missed college classes for a week to fly to Antwerp, Belgium with the U.S. Paralympics National Team. She earned four first-place finishes. Her hometown coach traveled with the team as a new U.S. Paralympics coach.
“Coach Peggy has helped me get better with almost every meet,” Beth said. ”She’s been with me every step of the way.”
When a riot broke out in Antwerp, the coaches rushed to gather up the sightseeing swimmers. Everyone was fine. Some even found inexpensive treasures in the diamond capital of the world. My daughter’s only purchase was a gift for her sister Maria, a ring with a small diamond, similar to the HOPE ring.
Beth had worn hers every day since her injury.
Engraved with the word HOPE, Beth’s ring looked exactly like the ones her best friends owned. The rings were made after the car accident six years before, and continued to be a meaningful reminder of the love of good friends.
Next: First Time at Fenway!
A mom with a story
to share about injuries that never heal and fortunate accidents. About guilt, disability, perspectives, and unexpected adventure.