I travel the country speaking to women about overcoming life\u2019s challenges. I hear a hush come over the crowd as I tell of the journey that began for me some 30 years ago. I\u2019ve done so many things I never dreamed of when I was younger\u2014parasailing in Mexico, climbing a coconut tree in the Philippines, working as a Spanish-language interpreter, even writing a book about my life. It\u2019s hard to believe that when I went blind at the age of 32 I was afraid even to put one foot in front of the other.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d been diagnosed in my late twenties with retinitis pigmentosa, an untreatable genetic degeneration of the retina that can lead to blindness. In my mind, people either lost their sight at birth or when they were elderly. It wasn\u2019t something that happened in the prime of life. So when the doctor told me to prepare for losing my vision I dismissed his advice.<\/p>\n
My world revolved around my family. Taking my three little boys\u2014Jason, seven, Jeff, five, and Joe, three\u2014to the playground, playing cars with them, reading them stories, giving them baths, picking out their clothes, grocery shopping, cooking delicious meals, doing laundry, cleaning and, at the end of the day, still having something left for Gene, my husband. I loved feeling needed and appreciated. And at night when I closed my eyes and prayed I felt God close by.<\/p>\n
Surely he didn\u2019t want me to go blind. Who\u2019d admire Jason\u2019s artwork if I couldn\u2019t see? Tie Jeff\u2019s shoes? Feed baby Joe? My identity would be gone. I couldn\u2019t let that happen.<\/p>\n
But my sight grew worse with each passing month. I prayed. Long, pleading prayers asking for God\u2019s help. But they did little good. My peripheral vision faded first, like a camera aperture slowly closing in from all sides, until I could only see things directly in front of me. The boys\u2019 scattered Matchbox cars became land mines. My steps grew shorter, more tentative. I had to focus to walk from one room to the next.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no cure for RP,\u201d the eye doctor told me at one appointment. \u201cBut even total blindness is manageable. You\u2019ll be able to do much more than you think. It will take time, though. You have to learn to see differently.\u201d<\/p>\n
If he was trying to give me hope it wasn\u2019t working. My world was growing smaller, darker, more frightening. Even God seemed distant, unreachable. I\u2019d given up driving. My house had become a prison. I felt helpless asking Gene if he could leave work early to take Jason to Cub Scouts. Calling my mom to take me grocery shopping.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d Gene would say. \u201cWe\u2019ll figure it out.\u201d<\/p>\n
But what was there to understand? Everything\u2014the simplest task, like reading The Cat in the Hat<\/em> to Joe\u2014was becoming more difficult. I\u2019d bend over to tie his shoes and misjudge the corner of a counter, banging my head. The boys were in constant motion. I always had to be on the lookout. With my coaching they had learned to place things they wanted me to see in front of me, to be patient when they called for my help. But I wanted to be there for them, not the other way around. I\u2019d find myself staring into their faces, trying to memorize every detail. I would never know how their faces changed as they grew into teens and adults, never see their girlfriends, never watch them cross the stage at graduation, never be able to picture any of the special moments in their lives.<\/p>\n My view of the world shrank to the size of a keyhole. As long as I can see just a little, I\u2019ll manage<\/em>, I told myself. I got the boys their breakfast each morning, my fingers measuring the cereal and milk as it poured into the bowls. I counted as I carefully went up the five steps to the second floor. I reached out to touch walls or furniture as I walked. But I barely slept at night, worried that if I closed my eyes I might never see again.<\/p>\n One morning I awoke in my bed to a dark gray haze all around me. I raised my hand in front of my face. Nothing. Not even a shadow. Gene had left for work. I felt lost, like I was trapped alone in an impenetrable fog.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, God,\u201d I heard myself crying out in the darkness. \u201cI need your help. I need to know you are there.\u201d But I felt no comfort in the stillness around me. I\u2019d been dreading this day, yet not once had I allowed myself to think about how I would cope when it finally arrived. That would have been like giving in.<\/p>\n I threw off the covers and groped for the wall leading out of the bedroom. I heard the sounds of the TV and the boys\u2019 laughter from the family room. What time was it? I listened closer. They were watching Mister Rogers\u2019 Neighborhood<\/em>. There was still time to get Jason and Jeff ready for school. I felt my way down the stairs. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. It was odd how familiar it seemed.<\/p>\n \u201cWho wants some breakfast?\u201d I called out. The boys scampered into the kitchen, the sounds of their footsteps each so distinctive. I\u2019d never noticed that before. I ran my fingers across the cabinet and grasped the knob. I opened it, found the cereal and poured it into four bowls. Then added the milk. Cautiously I reached for the fruit bowl, pulled out a banana, peeled it and sliced it.<\/p>\n Now the hard part\u2014transporting the bowls to the table. I took slow steps and set a bowl in front of each chair. I could feel my heart pounding. I\u2019d done it!<\/p>\n Then it was time for my older boys to leave for school. I bent down and hugged them. I could feel their little hands pressing into my back, their faces so warm against mine. I didn\u2019t have to see them to feel their love. It enveloped me\u2014an intense, incredible feeling of comfort.<\/p>\n I sent the boys off to the bus and found my way to the couch. I had to think this through. \u201cMommy needs to rest,\u201d I told Joe. I could hear him playing cars beside me. Then I felt something hard being pressed into my hands. \u201cRead to me,\u201d Joe said as he crawled onto my lap. I\u2019d figured out breakfast, but this was the one thing I couldn\u2019t do.<\/p>\n I hesitantly opened the cover, trying to remember the words to one of his stories. \u201cThe sun did not shine,\u201d I said slowly. I felt him take the book and turn it in my hands. I\u2019d been holding it upside down! \u201cIt was too wet to play,\u201d I continued, my voice cracking. I stumbled on, making a complete mess of the story. But Joe didn\u2019t seem to notice. When I finished he said, \u201cThanks, Mom. I liked that one the best.\u201d He climbed off my lap and went back to his cars. The warm comforting feeling again swept over me, a love that I knew wasn\u2019t coming only from my son.<\/p>\n Although I couldn\u2019t do things the way I\u2019d always done them, what mattered most to me\u2014the love of my family, the presence of God\u2014hadn\u2019t changed. In fact, I felt all Slow adjustments made me stronger. Each week I learned how to do something new. I organized and made a mental map of everything in my house. Created coding systems. I wrapped rubber bands around the flour and sugar bags to tell them apart, one for sugar, two for flour. I realized I could tell spices by their smell. It wasn\u2019t long before I could easily put my hands on whatever I needed in the kitchen. One night I surprised Gene and the boys with a spaghetti dinner.<\/p>\n I could hear Joe\u2019s untied shoelaces dragging across the kitchen tile. Could feel when Jeff\u2019s face was dirty. My nose told me when Jason was wearing the same stinky socks two days in a row.<\/p>\n Where my failing eyes had once seen hurdles impossible to cross, now I relished the challenge of finding a path around them. My world expanded with each step I took.<\/p>\n Gene gave me the Bible on tape, and I joined a Bible study. With the use of a screen reader, I began \u201cread\u00ading\u201d on my computer. And writing on my own wasn\u2019t off-limits either! That\u2019s when I began sharing my story with oth\u00aders. Was there anything I couldn\u2019t do?<\/p>\n One day while I was unloading the washing machine I overheard Joe tell a playmate, \u201cMy mommy has eyes at the end of her fingers.\u201d I chuckled. It was true. My sight was gone, but my vision was clearer than ever.<\/p>\n I marveled at how my sons grew into young men. Rather than bend over to kiss their cheek, I stood on my toes to reach them. I was there at their football games and lacrosse and wrestling matches. I\u2019d hold my husband\u2019s hand and climb into the stands. I cheered when I heard the announcer mention my sons\u2019 names.<\/p>\n And when I heard their names called out as they walked across the stage at graduation, first Jason, then Jeff, then Joe, my eyes filled with tears. I experienced it all so vividly. My world didn\u2019t stay dark when I went blind. With God, it grew brighter, rich with hope. After all, it isn\u2019t only with the eyes that you see. <\/p>\n
\nof that more intensely than ever. I\u2019d been so fixated on not losing my sight that I\u2019d been blind to the fact that God had been guiding me all along, preparing me for this. I wasn\u2019t worried anymore about how I was going to do everything. I knew I\u2019d have plenty of help figuring it out.<\/p>\n