Harrington went back to work yesterday. Brid and I alternated spending time with him throughout the day, helping him to ease back into the work and accustom himself to the additional restrictions caused by the wheelchair. There were not many—he was foresighted enough to choose his work location and lay out his office in such ways that to use the wheelchair would be possible. But he always hoped that these cautionary measures would not be necessary, or at least not so soon.
He has been in low spirits ever since his fall. The week of rest mandated by the doctor was frustrating and upsetting to him, and as I feared, he has held himself off from his family. They have taken his withdrawal well, standing back to give him his space, but it worries them. Isabella feels, and I agree with her, that it is time to draw him out again.
All of my efforts to that end came to nothing yesterday, but today something happened that gives me hope for his recovery.
“Thanks, Mike,” he grunted as his assistant helped him out of the car and into the chair—that damned chair, as he has come to think of it. “I’m sorry to give you extra work.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Price,” Mike said cheerfully, beginning to wheel Harrington over to the handicapped entrance of the building—he was having a meeting with an insurance company, hoping to make a deal for coverage for his employees. “You’ve got to get around somehow, right?”
Harrington scowled at the elevator doors. “Seems unfair to make you do all the heavy lifting.” He thumped the arm of his chair irritably.
This is the kind of self-deprecation that I have been trying to discourage, with limited success. Before I could say anything, however, I noticed that Mike was thoughtful.
“Mr. Price,” he said after a moment, “I don’t want to seem like I’m giving you advice, but…can I share something with you that I think might help?”
Harrington was uninterested in any attempts to help—how strange humans are about their pride, even in distress!—but he didn’t want to seem rude, so he nodded.
Mike straightened his glasses. “It’s something my mom told me when I first needed glasses,” he said. “I hated them. I thought they were ugly, and I thought—well, I knew that kids were going to tease me about them. She just looked at me and she said, would you rather have the headaches and the blurriness? Because we can go home right now if that’s what you want.”
Harrington grunted. “So suck it up, huh?”
“Oh, that’s not what I meant, sir. See, she also said, not everyone has the same advantages. Some people can’t see the world as clearly as others, and some people can’t walk as long or as far as others, and some people can’t hear, and some people have mental illness—so that’s why we have things like glasses and wheelchairs and hearing aids and medicines. Those things exist so that the people who are disadvantaged can have a fuller experience of the world.” The elevator chimed, and Mike wheeled Harrington out onto the floor they wanted. “She told me not to resent the things that make my experience of the world better, and not to resent myself for a disadvantage that I can’t help.” He smiled, touching his glasses again. “That’s why I don’t wear contacts, sir. I want to remember that.”
Harrington considered this for a long moment. He liked the thought of himself as disadvantaged, rather than disabled. It made his injury seem like a challenge to overcome, which suited his spirit. “Maggie’s a smart woman,” he said at last.
Mike chuckled. “She is.” As the representative for the company approached to meet them, he leaned down and said, “And don’t worry about me, sir. I’m happy to help.”
I could not have done it more neatly myself. The relay of Mike’s mother’s words gave Harrington a new way to look at his difficulties, and his final, quick reassurance cheered Harrington enough that he could believe it. Of course, it does not hurt at all that the meeting went well. Harrington was nearly his usual self by the time Mike brought him home.
He still has a long way to go, both physically and emotionally, but I now believe that the recovery process has begun. May it go well and quickly.