Tuesday, September 28, 2004

“I see you. I see you. I see you.”

Words spoken to a young man in pain…in the world of fiction. Oh that fiction was reality. Or reality fiction.

My sister told me a few months ago that my parents were planning this big trip for their anniversary next year. They were going to invite our whole family to go to Colorado with them. If we all paid for the plane tickets, they would pick up the rest of the tab. [We haven’t had a vacation as a whole family in more than 20 years.]

Now, a few months later, my sister told me that they have changed their plans and are now planning to go to Jamaica. NOT that they have spoken of this to my brother, my step-sister, or myself yet.

Jamaica. A tropical paradise, right?

I cannot be in such heat. When I get too hot, I grow weak and disoriented. I sometimes faint.

Water, water, everywhere and not a drop for me.

The last time I was in a pool, I nearly drowned. I had only been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis for a year. I did not think how very many muscles you use in water or how quickly I could become fatigued. My niece, twelve at the time, had to rescue me because the cacophony of the indoor pool kept the lifeguards from hearing our cries for help. I was terrified.

A family vacation in a place that is too hot for me with water activities I could not participate in otherwise.

It hurts that my parents give no thought to my disease. They give no thought to my life or how very much I mask and I compensate for this disease.

Never mind the asthma. Never mind the arthritis.

They do not see me. They do not see me. They do not see me.

I know my heavenly Father does. I know I am seen. But I have not yet learned to let go of the longing for my family to see me…just once.

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