I received the news recently that a friend of mine had passed away last weekend. She was young, vivacious, energetic, kind, and successful, and that doesn't even scratch the surface. She was the unfortunate victim of a freak accident, and I think that makes it harder to cope with than if she had been ill and I'd had some warning. Although I attended her memorial service, we weren't close enough for me to be able to share my memories of her with the other attendees. I've had a few days to think about this, so here's my tribute to holly.
I've been blind since shortly after birth, but at the age of four, my parents decided they weren't going to send me to a special school for blind children. I attended public school like my other peers, and so I didn't have a lot of contact with blind people my age. Okay, I didn't have any contact with blind people my age. Thus, I was a fairly lonely child; I think I'm naturally shy, or at least a little uncomfortable around people I don't know, but being bullied and teased did not help.
It wasn't until I was 11 that I attended the school for the blind in halifax for 3 weeks, and was exposed to peers who faced similar challenges. my last week was spent concentrating on orientation and mobility skills (i.e., how to use a cane correctly, how to navigate safely across streets and in various environments, how to utilize public transit, etc). Holly was one of my fellow students.
She was 3 years older than me, but unlike most 14-year-olds who wouldn't dream of talking to someone who wasn't even in junior high yet, holly treated me just like she treated everyone else. She was kind to me, and just a very likable person all around. She made me feel at ease, which was something not many people could do. And, because she had a few years on me, her mobility skills were more developed than mine; I hated using my cane, and took every opportunity or used any excuse not to, but I saw what I could become if I worked hard and paid attention--that is, an independent, self-sufficient traveller who didn't have to rely on sighted guides all the time.
That's probably my best memory of holly. We kept in touch over the years, but not very much. She was more of an acquaintance, and we had mutual friends with whom I was closer. We did lose contact for almost a decade and then reconnected on facebook, and we were going to get together, but we never did, and now we never will.
holly's death makes me realize how precious life is. It makes me want to crawl in a whole, or shut myself away so I'll be safe forever, but it also makes me want to do the exact opposite, and take risks and do things I've always wished I could do but never had the time or the resources or the energy to accomplish.
I didn't know her very well, but I am grateful for the few fond memories I have of her. I hope her family will some day find peace. For some that may be a long and painful journey, though perhaps the many happy memories, and her loving essence that still lives on in those memories will help a great deal. I know I will hold the few recollections I have of holly close. Sometimes, a gentle touch on someone's life can be just as profound as a long-lasting presence.
RIP Holly.
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