Thanks to a beautiful, young, brown-skinned, blind and deaf man, I had a moment of clarity

A Poet's Life

Thanks to a beautiful, young, brown-skinned, blind and deaf man, I had a moment of clarity

My posts for this blog have always been about honesty and self-discovery. It makes no sense to seek answers to questions that make the mind spin if honesty is not an integral part of the process.

I’ve been hitting the Y the past few days to try and get my head on straight. My personal universe is fraught with first world problems that make me feel like I’m under the weight of a hundred tons. This time of year is always difficult for me as I tend to reflect equally on my successes and my failures. This year felt like it had more failures than successes. I have gone through a tremendous amount of transitions that have not been for the better. Though I go through momentary bouts of depression and self flagellation, I work hard to get through the rough spots, but this year has been exceptionally difficult.

I was sitting in the hot tub at the Y, when two men approached. One was an older man, leading a younger man by the arm. He asked another man in the hot tub if he could assist in leading the young man to a seat safely. All eyes were on this beautiful boy/man with the tatted chest and arms as he mouthed words we could not hear. They were father and son. For whatever reason, he turned to me and said, “that’s my son, Andre. He’s blind and deaf. Just before his year in jail was up, he was beaten up and this is how he came home to me.” I will not get into the details of who did this to him, but suffice it to say, he is yet another statistic. He then proceeded to tell me that his son is always mouthing words, he hears them and doesn’t process that he can’t speak them, yet they still flow from his mouth. There is little hope he will recover, though his father prays to God every day for that miracle.

When I got home, I picked up my Granddaughter, smelled her sweet baby smell, looked into her big, blue, trusting eyes and shed a tear for that father, and for myself. My first world problems suck, but in the midst of all of them, I wake up every morning with another chance at life, and I can wrap my arms around the miracle my daughter brought into this world.