I recently read the book Blind, written by Rachel Dewoskin. It’s a fictional account of 15-year-old Emma, who is blinded in a fireworks accident. Towards the end of her story, Emma talks about not liking when people say “I can’t imagine”. She questions, why can’t they imagine?
I’ve given a lot of thought to this and she’s right. To get a sense of vision loss, you can close your eyes or put on a blindfold and do some things around the house. (Be careful, of course!) One of my friends has done things in her kitchen while keeping her eyes closed. Another friend told me that every time she gets in her car to run an errand, she thinks about me not being able to drive and what that would be like. They have both imagined, and that means more to me than anything anyone has done for me since my optic nerves became damaged.
When we are children we excel at using our imaginations. We play for hours with a truck, a doll, even the large box that the washing machine was delivered in. It was easy and natural to us. But as adults we focus on what is real and, ironically, what we can see.
Well it’s time for this 50-year-old to be a kid again and flex my imagination muscles. I will really think about what someone is experiencing when they are going through a hard time. I will put myself in their shoes. I encourage you to do the same. No toys are necessary, but if it helps you can go to the attic, find your Barbie, blindfold her and let her walk around her Malibu dream house. Just don’t let her drive her convertible or her camper. Or, she and Ken can get a divorce. Whatever you are trying to duplicate that people you care about are dealing with.
I am always looking for the lesson that my vision loss is trying to teach me. The big lesson, I suspect, is that there are a lot of smaller, but still significant lessons to be learned. And this is one. I can imagine what others are going through and if they are important to me, isn’t that the very least and yet the very most I can do?
