My daughter and I are all too familiar with rude looks, glaring stares, and insensitive comments. The cause? A handicap placard, Jayde-Rhiannon in her wheelchair, boarding first on an airplane or skipping the line at amusement parks. My favorite retort to the insensitive comments is, "And you don't look like an asshole, but that just goes to prove you can't judge a book by its cover." My retort tends to stun and silence the ignorance long enough for us to escape.
Yesterday, I was excited to meet four childhood friends for lunch. We started meeting up a few months ago. One of the women I've known for more than forty-five years. We are all on our way to becoming empty nesters. Although I am functioning on minimal sleep, I don't care. I am dressed and comfortable in my own skin. Or I was, until I heard a shrieking scream from Jayde, only to discover a fiasco with one of our cats. Fifteen minutes later, the crisis is handled, but now I need to quickly change. Instead of being excited, I am frustrated, flustered, and running late. Even though a part of me is considering canceling for today, I know I need these few hours of girl time.
I listen to the laughter amongst us and silently think, I'm glad I didn't cancel. The conversation easily and freely flows. I happily sit at the table, listening to the unguarded, spoken thoughts of these women who are dear to me. We discuss our shared disdain for a local airport. I relay multiple stories of Jayde's misadventures and mistreatment from TSA. The conversation turns as one of the women chimes in, "I watched a woman being wheeled through the airport. Then, when she gets to the gate, she gets out of her wheelchair and walks to the bathroom. I thought, really? All so you can board the plane first."
I think about the many reasons we avoid, whenever possible, taking Jayde's wheelchair into a public bathroom. The unnecessary germs on her chair, keeping the accessible stall free for a user who isn't mobile, and the difficulty of maneuvering the chair in confined spaces are at the top of our list.
As the women continue conversing on the topic, they have no idea I am quelling the hurt their comments bring. I bite the inside of my cheek, ensuring my very tired thoughts do not morph into spoken words that come rushing out like a dam that has burst wide open.
I realize even in the safest and most loving of places—it is there. Even amongst the most unjudgemental people—it is there. The ableist attitude. The idea that if a person is not confined to their wheelchair 24/7, they couldn't possibly be disabled. Nor do they deserve handicap privileges. The idea that someone should have to validate their disabilities to strangers is infuriating. How do you explain in a few minutes that which cannot be seen?
For a moment, their conversation becomes background noise as I wonder if our family had not experienced all we did with Jayde, would I share their sentiments? Would I still see the invisible?
A few hours later, as we part, I drive home, continuing to contemplate those questions. Jayde's illnesses opened my eyes to an invisible world I never wanted to see. Nonetheless, I've seen it. I've lived it, and for her sake, I'd give anything for our family to unsee it.
Once I arrive home, I am greeted with strong arms of love. "How was your lunch?" I sigh, "It was ok—" As Jackson looks at me, he sees me. "But?" I quickly respond, "Something happened that bothered me." He listens intently as I tell him about the conversation. He utters a knowing, "Ah, I see." "But that's just it. I don't. These are some of the most genuinely kind and loving women. It really bothered me. If they see things from this point of view, it's no wonder the rest of society is so vile."
The rest of the evening, I second-guess my silence. I should have spoken up. Should I bring it up the next time we have lunch? The Mama Bear and advocate in me screams a resounding yes. The exhausted mom, wife, and whatever else I am today quietly says, go to bed and allow sleeping thoughts to be still—even though it goes against everything in my nature. A final thought as I drift off to sleep in the early morning hours, why is it easier for people to judge what they cannot see instead of believing the obvious?
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