Empathy

As I was preparing lunch today, Ainsley seemed off in her own world. I would ask her to help with something simple, and she would move in the right direction then forget what her task was almost as soon as she took three steps. She even forgot to eat the macaroni and cheese she had insisted on making without my help.

Then Ian wanted a hot dog to go with his mac-n-cheese. After being asked seven times if she wanted one too, Ainsley finally mumbled something that sounded like a "yes".

"Ainsley, will you get the ketchup, please?" I requested. She just continued walking around the kitchen and mumbling to herself.

"Ainsley. . .the ketchup is in the refrigerator. Will you get it, please?" I asked again. She looked up at me with an odd expression, then began tugging at her shirt. I just rolled my eyes and hoped she would comply. Eventually, she had most of her arm inside the shirt with her upper arm and elbow sticking through the sleeve.

"I want to have one arm," she said plainly. And then it hit me, like an arrow through my heart.

One of Ainsley's friends from ballet class has only one arm. She is a beautiful child, full of smiles and giggles, just like all the other girls. Ainsley adores her. I think she is amazed at how much her friend does for herself, and that she does everything so well.

Ainsley and I have talked about what it must be like for the girl, and how it is important that Ainsley treat her the same as anyone else. She is not "the girl with one arm". She is "a friend from ballet class named Stephanie*".

Ainsley had decided it was time to walk in her friend's shoes.

She opened the refrigerator door with her right hand and stood inside looking for the ketchup. The enormous 64oz. bottle was on the bottom shelf of the door. Thank goodness for plastic containers! She reached down with her small right hand and found out quickly that retrieving ketchup is a two-handed job. Immediately, she did as she has seen her friend do: she reached down with her elbow and used her make-shift stub to assist. She rose, holding the bottle close to her body and scooted around the fridge door to close it with her back side.

Although proud of herself for pulling off what seemed like a huge task, she realized after a couple of steps that carrying the bottle across the room this way was going to be difficult. I gave her a hand as we walked to the table together.

"So, you wanted to see what it's like to be Stephanie*?" I asked. She just looked up at me for a moment. "It isn't easy doing things that way, is it?" She shook her head. "I am proud of you for trying, sweetie. That was a nice thing to do."

Nothing else was said. She had discovered what she needed to know about her friend. Everyone has unique challenges, and we all cope with them the best we can.

*not her real name