I
am the person who cannot
talk. You often
pity me, I see it in
your eyes. You
wonder how much I am
aware of -- I see that
as well. I am
aware of much -- whether
you are happy or sad or
fearful, patient or
impatient, full of love
and desire, or if you
are just doing your duty
by me. I marvel at
your frustration,
knowing mine to be far
greater, for I cannot
express myself or my
needs as you do.
You cannot conceive my
isolation, so complete
it is at times. I
do not gift you with
clever conversation,
cute remarks to be
laughed over and
repeated. I do not
give you answers to your
everyday questions,
responses over my
well-being, sharing my
needs, or comments about
the world about me.
I do not give you
rewards as defined by
the world's standards --
great strides in
development that you can
credit yourself; I do
not give you
understanding as you
know it.
What I give you is so
much more valuable -- I
give you instead
opportunities.
Opportunities to
discover the depth of
your character, not
mine; the depth of your
love, your commitment,
your patience, your
abilities; the
opportunity to explore
your spirit more deeply
than you imagined
possible. I drive
you further than you
would ever go on your
own, working harder,
seeking answers to your
many questions with no
answers. I am your
special loved one who
cannot talk.
I am your special loved
one who cannot walk.
The world seems to pass
me by. You see the
longing in my eyes to
get out of this chair,
to enjoy life.
There is much you take
for granted. I
want the wholeness of
self, I need to go
to the bathroom,
oh I've dropped my fork
again. I am
dependant on you in
these ways. My
gift to you is to make
you more aware of your
great fortune, your
healthy back and legs,
your ability to do for
yourself. Sometimes
people appear not to
notice me; I always
notice them. I
feel not so much envy as
desire, desire to stand
upright, to put one foot
in front of the other,
to be independent.
I give you awareness.
I am your special loved
one who cannot walk.
I am your special loved
one who is cognitively
impaired. I don't learn
easily, if you judge me
by the world's measuring
stick, what I do know is
infinite joy in simple
things. I am not
burdened as you are with
the strife and conflicts
of a more complicated
life. My gift to
you is to grant you the
freedom to enjoy things
as a child, to teach you
how much your arms
around me mean, to give
you love. I give
you the gift of
simplicity. I am
your special loved one
who is cognitively
impaired.
I am your special loved
one. I am your
teacher. If you
allow me, I will teach
you what is really
important in life.
I will give you and
teach you unconditional
love. I gift you
with my innocent trust,
my dependency upon you.
I teach you about how
precious this life is
and about not taking
things for granted.
I teach you about
forgetting your own
needs and desires and
dreams. I teach
you giving. Most
of all I teach you hope
and faith.
I am your special loved
one.
Author Unknown