As David and I walked out of Red Robin tonight after a lovely dinner out, I stepped aside as three people entered the foyer: a father holding the door, a son entering the doorway and a mother bringing up the rear.
The son was a young boy, about age 3, using a 4-wheeled walker. His legs were twisted, but he pressed on with a steady and determined gait.
David greeted him, and the boy had a huge grin on his bespectacled face.
I added my piece: "Those are cool wheels!" (They were much fancier than anything I ever had, hands down.)
The young boy's front tires snagged on the door jam, and his mother reached forward to help him over it.
His father stopped her: "Let him do it. He can do it."
And he did.
And as we stepped outside and made our way to our car, I pressed my head against David's shoulder, tears in my eyes, and managed to whisper, "I'm having a tremendous grateful moment right now."
Don't get me wrong — I'm allowed to feel awful from time to time. Watching last week's women's marathon and this week's men's marathon was hard because I can't run. I had a meltdown today when I realized I made a mistake on my first equipment order, and I hope I can resolve it Monday — not earth-shattering, but still demoralizing that I can't even read a catalog.
But I am walking with a natty cane and I am healing, and for that I am grateful.
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