This last weekend I attended my uncle's funeral. He was blind in the opposite eye as me. I loved the fact he could see the world as I see it. We didn't ever have to say a word about what it was like, because we already knew.
To have someone sit on your blind side and not even know they are there until they call your name. To stand in the aisle of a store looking at a item and not realizing someone is trying to get through the aisle. To have your kids make faces at you when you can't even see them. To get something in your good and not be able to see to get it out. Ouch, I dislike that when it happens. I favor sitting edge of the table so I can see everyone at the table, I'm sure my uncle did the same thing.
Blind in one eye isn't the worst thing in the world. I have often told myself at least I can see my children's faces, write a letter, read a book, and smile when someone smiles at me. I can take pictures and look at them.
Life is a blessing, because I have realized the grass isn't always greener on the other side of the fence. I had a friend in high school tell me how sorry he felt for me, because I couldn't see out of two eyes. I told him, I felt sorry for him because he didn't know how lucky he was to see out of two eyes.
My writing is moving forward inch my inch, word by word. Stories creep in that I never thought would show their faces. Words of anger, sadness, and loneliness ring loud and clear in between the lines of sentences. I place a shield of armor on my chest moments before the stillness stirs beneath my fingers and words flow that make my fingers dance to a rhythm my heart loves to sing.