I probably should have said what I was thinking.
A lot of times, I blurt things out because they are funny and on my mind and I know that other people wanted to say what I was thinking but they just couldn't get the words out.
But there she was, telling her daughter how beautiful her song was, and I didn't say a thing. I think I was frozen in the moment. Frozen in the moment of recognition, and perhaps worried about how my words might be taken.
"I have a disabled child as well," is what I wanted to say.
But the words simply didn't come out.
I've heard them before, and seen them as well at my gym. The mother must be in her early 80s, her daughter easily in her 50s. The daughter is of very, small stature and sort of frail. Her head is sort of small and she has a sort of grimace about her. She can't speak, but she sometimes makes noises that I hear from my corner of the locker room.
I've seen the mother dutifully bring her to swim at the pool on other occasions, seen that she brings her daughter's wheelchair right to the shower room and helps her shower. At an age where most parents require the assistance of their children, such a natural progression of events would never be possible for this mother.
So they showered together, the daughter standing under the warm water holding a chair for support, the mother hovering around.
And then the daughter began to "sing".
To others, quite frankly, it may not have sounded like singing.
It may have sounded like guttural nonsense.
It was sort of a deep sound for a small female, it droned a bit.
"What a lovely song that is, what a beautiful song," said the mother to her daughter.
Encouraged, the daughter continued to "sing".
I felt very privileged to hear the music.
I heard the lovely song, the beautiful song as well.
If you really listen, you will hear it, too.
Blessed are those who choose to hear (and not shut out) the music that originates in some of the most unlikely individuals, and who encourage song.
