The shock of losing my sight did not hit me right away. My faith led me to believe that what had happened was simply temporary and that it was just a matter of time before I would see again. After all, blindness wasn’t me. I had too many hopes and dreams to accomplish, things I wanted to do, places to go. And besides, I knew nothing about being blind. Such a thought, for me, meant life was over.
As I lay in the hospital, I couldn’t resist the feelings of regret that hung over me. I quickly became angry with myself as I looked back on a life that – though still young – appeared to be half-filled with youthful indifference. It seemed to me that I had done very little with what was now a lot of valuable time and the wasted days of earlier years had suddenly come to an account. The future appeared to be over, and all I had for nearly three decades of living were nagging feelings of regret.
I get very concerned when I hear and read about the widespread apathy that is said to exist among the young and how so many are idling their time away. Their goals and expectations amount to little more than a search for instant gratification. Ambition is hurriedly disappearing among them. It is what the author Thomas French, in his book ““South of Heaven: A Year in the Life of an American High School . . . ,’’ refers to as a ““withering of curiosity.''
Looking back on the once idle course of my own past, I know how easy it is to slip into a do-nothing way of life. I grew up in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, where a person’s existence begged for direction and the civil-rights legacy was a mainstay. I came from an impoverished family worsened by an absent father. My poor health together with a lack of opportunity – exacerbated by racial prejudices – left little doubt that living required much hard work and determination to make it any better. Despite all these reasons for diligence, my indifference persisted.
At the time of the loss of my sight at the age of 28, it seemed I had somehow managed to spend nearly 10 years doing little or nothing. The years from mid-teens to mid-twenties, not only for me but for most of those who moved along with me, were full of an almost instinctive desire for self-gratification and an oblivion to anything tomorrow. Even college bore little expectation and proved to be a continuation of the time before, resulting in academic dismissal and, finally, a failure to graduate.
When I did become focused – several years before the surgery – I found starting a career to be no small feat. I had hoped to make my way as a writer, editor and book publisher. It wasn’t long before I realized that getting started was filled with difficulties. Having a degree may not necessarily open a door of opportunity, but not having one will definitely close it. Without my degree, most publications I spoke with would not consider me for an interview. It was only after offering to do some work for free as a stringer for the local paper – and a great deal of pleading with many others for a tryout – that I succeeded in landing a job as a copy editor with a newspaper. I later worked as a book editor. Shortly after I lost my sight, my employer informed me that my job had been filled by someone else.
Now my horizons represent new and unfamiliar struggles – days and things once taken for granted have long since been given due value and meaning. The previously unknown world of the disabled has served to remind me of the immediacy of life and just how fragile it really is. It also has brought many changes and adjustments. I find it difficult to get used to the absence of the sweet faces of family and friends, beautiful seasonal days and moonlit nights, the printed words of a favorite book. I even miss taking a hectic drive on South Florida’s I-95.
Everyday tasks have had to be relearned. I attended the state’s rehab center to learn necessary skills for daily living and how to become mobile by using a cane. I later returned to the center to receive valuable training in adaptive computer technology.
My employer’s perception about my loss of sight proved to be typical of what I found as I began to step back into society. I was amazed to find out how uninformed most people are about blindness, especially concerning the capabilities of blind people, what we can do or cannot do. At first, family and friends tried to do every little thing possible for me. For others, it means a lot of false assumptions, such as thinking they cannot speak to me directly but must do so to whomever I happen to be with. And for too many employers, it means assuming that I have discontinued to be a worthwhile investment. I can attest to this by all the doors I have knocked on for nearly three years; and by the 70 percent of disabled Americans who are unemployed.
As for myself, I have come to believe that life still has a great deal to offer and all the things that really matter remain with me. My dreams haven’t faded. I would like to work as a writer; perhaps to marry, have a family and own a home. And above all, to rightly relate to others and live in a fulfilling way as I strive to become an integral, contributing part of the community.
It is understandable that when we’re young we think that time is on our side and the world waits for us. But only when it is somehow abruptly interrupted do we realize it ““just ain’t so.’’ Maybe if young people could see, firsthand, the struggles and challenges of the disabled, it would stir in them an awareness of the urgency of life – to pursue dreams and to realize what God has given them. I write these words not as a moralistic effort to pick on today’s youth, nor to be overly critical of them. But rather to offer a few words to the wise: ““There is no time to waste.''
