I have just returned from checking in with Harrington, who is doing very well—both Brid and I are pleased with the progress he has made. What pleases me more, however, is that he has found a new interest, and this one may make a real difference to many others.
On their trip to look at Harrington’s college, I stopped in with them more than once, just to make certain that he and Arthur were getting along. It seemed to me that they were, so they had little need of me. Brid spent more time with them, in fact, for the handicapped facilities were not as good as they might have been on campus, and so she had to lend Harrington strength and patience quite often.
He was still upset about it when they arrived back at home yesterday evening. Harrington managed to restrain himself while Arthur told his mother about the students he’d met and the dormitories he’d seen. After he had gone upstairs, however, and Isabella turned to her husband, the words poured out of him in an irritable stream.
“—like they set up an obstacle course! To get into the dining hall, you have to go all the way around the building to the lower floor, wrestle the door open, and then locate the elevator. There were two class buildings where Arthur had to park me like a dog because they had no elevators at all. And yesterday when I used my crutches, I opened my blisters with all the walking on the tour. That chirpy little girl leading the group would not slow down.”
Isabella put her hand over Harrington’s. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
Her honest sympathy and lack of amusement appeased Harrington a bit. He settled down into a good grumble. “It’s not right. I’m every bit as smart as I used to be when I was racing all across that campus. Why should I have to run in circles now that I can’t actually run?”
Isabella got up and started to gather up the dishes. “It is a shame. There really should be better facilities.”
“Yeah, but nobody cares, or even realizes how hard it is. There are sixty-seven stairs in the French house, Isabella. And that’s just one of the smaller dormitories! But even Arthur was bounding up and down. He had to remind himself to wait for me.” Harrington sighed. “Which I don’t grudge him, or at least not a lot. He shouldn’t have to worry about me. That’s the whole point—I should at least have a chance to keep up.” He sank back into his wheelchair, dejected, and looked down at his knobbly knees and weak feet limp in their shoes. “But unless you’re in the chair, you don’t recognize the need.”
I was struck by inspiration then, and I leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “If no one of able body will think to make these changes, then perhaps you will have to do it yourself.”
That thought struck harder than even I could have expected. Harrington looked up at Isabella. “You know what? I’m going to give David Wiles a call in the morning. He’s still the president of the alumnae association in this area. Maybe he’d be interested in helping me.”
Isabella raised her brows. “Help you improve the handicapped accessibility, you mean?”
“Why not?” Harrington was liking the idea more and more. “Why the hell not? I’ve given a lot to that school, and especially if Arthur’s going to be going there, I want it to be a welcoming place for all kinds of people. Including me.”
Isabella closed the dishwasher door and came back to rub Harrington’s shoulders. She was smiling—she liked the idea, but more she liked the renewed energy in her husband’s eyes. “Why wait until tomorrow? You could send him an email right now.”
“I think I will,” Harrington said, and he wheeled himself off to his home office then and there.
When I left, Harrington was busily composing the email, which was turning into quite the missive. He’d called Arthur into the room to help him remember some of the details he’d noticed, and Arthur, who had not been as heedless of his father’s difficulties as Harrington thought, loved the idea. They were chatting eagerly, working together to correct the wrong.
This will take some time, of course, and even if Harrington succeeds in improving the facilities of his school, there are many other places that are still closed to him. It is a long fight he has joined. But then, there is passion in the battle, passion that might feed him in defeat as well as in victory. Perhaps this will sustain him for years to come.
We shall see—after all, this is only the beginning.