A Mother in a Wheelchair Rolls Joyously Through Life

I do not remember a time when my mom was not in a wheelchair. It was always there, but not like some horrible piece of glittering steel machinery. It is a part of her that serves as a background, the palette to her enduring strength and glorious smile.

Whenever my mom returns to her car, be it from a shopping trip, dinner at a restaurant or even work, she likes to pretend she’s on a ride. After gaining momentum on the sloping pavement, she trades the confines of her chair for freedom of limb and mind. Thrusting her arms up to the sun, she lifts her head so that God can observe and appreciate his creation. With her eyes closed and the wind gently ruffling her hair, she glides and laughs, stopping only after we yell for her to be careful, to watch out for swerving cars and inattentive people.

After her excursions with her dreams, she has a look in her eyes of a wild, unbridled love of the life she is living, and the life yet to be lived. It is a beautiful sight.

The wheelchair that magically transports my mother on these theme park rides might have been doomed to the sterile, brightly lighted work of a hospital or the shadowy world of a shut-in. This wheelchair was lucky to have been gifted with this woman.

It has been warmed in the sun of Mexico, witnessed the green cactuses that grow everywhere in Arizona, chilled in the cool saltwater breeze of the coast and surrounded by friends and family in a never-ending number of beautiful weddings, joyous showers and celebrated birthdays. Mom wouldn’t allow the wheelchair to cage her like some beautiful bird locked in and kept away from the world, never allowed to spread its wings.

One day I asked my mom if she ever thought about how things would be different -- better or worse, happier or sadder -- if the accident had never happened. Looking at me with knowing eyes, she said: “If the accident never happened, we wouldn’t be right where we are now. We live life as it comes, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always our life. We must live it.”

She is happy. And she is thankful. After all the suffering my mom has been through, she is still satisfied with life and accepting of the negative aspects it has brought.

She travels to Sacramento once a month to participate in meetings of an advisory committee on the disabled. Sitting at the head of the conference room table, giving lectures and welcoming guest speakers, she is a beautiful sight.

She is an activist and a fighter who feels that the disabled should have as many rights and opportunities as the next person. Hearing the excitement in her voice as she talks about it is so revealing. Behind her smile and a slight Spanish accent there reigns an intelligence like no other, one blessed with knowledge and wit and marked by experiences that no other should have to go through.

My mom enjoys and participates in the life that has been dealt her, sometimes to the point where we have to scream for her to stop because we fear she can’t handle it. But I know she can.

Luciana Castaneda is a student at Cal State University Sacramento.