"This is a miracle," I said.
I was grooming Squash, standing beside this stately, chestnut gelding; this gentle, strong, sensitive soul. First, circular with the currycomb, to loosen the dirt, massage the skin and even help with circulation. Then, the hard brush in the direction of hair growth to clean Squash's coat. Aside from chasing a few flies, Squash was happy-- his ears up and his head relaxed, weight off one of his hind legs; clear signs of his spa-like delight.
I forgot about my failing legs that usually pressure me to sit down as I constantly fight gravity. I forgot about the jerky, delayed movement in my hands and arms; somehow I was able to groom Squash's striking coat with short, smooth strokes. I leaned slightly against this golden Haflinger, as he helped keep me upright; helped keep me safe.
That is-- Squash and others kept me safe. Nancy. Susan. Cheryl. Mel. Jen. There for me; beside me, next to me, behind me. The quiet work of angels. It is they; they who volunteer their time; they who drive for over an hour; they who get trained; they who make the time; they who make the choice; they who make helping me a priority; they who put me first; they who forego their own needs for the afternoon. The Volunteers give it all up to help me, to keep me safe, to help me forget about my disease-- to give me GLEDE, as my Norwegian friend would say (Norwegian for "Joy")...There are few, if any, gifts greater than time. What more can one give? It is they who make this miracle possible. My miracle. The Volunteers. I am in awe of the Volunteers...so blessed by the Volunteers...
STOP ASIAN HATE
BLACK LIVES MATTER
