Day after day a woman—barely in her forties—limps down the sidewalk outside my work to and from work. The first under the first rays of the sun. The second time carrying his parcels under the hot midday sun.
Long ago she walked around swinging with her quad cane, taking a break every hundred steps to catch her breath under an awning.
Then, an impatient Chihuahua dog joined their pilgrimage, running and stopping at intervals while he waits for his mistress to catch up. One day, the impetuous pup pulled her with enough force to get anyone's attention, but in her case, it was more than enough to trip her. Unable to stand, she waited until a good Samaritan came to her aid in response to the dog's barking for help.
The fall worsened his already deteriorating condition to the point that the doctor forbade him to take his dog for a walk. From that day on, she walked the streets with another dog—a stuffed one—hanging from her arm as she made her usual route. And again.
Today, after more than four years, I watched her during her pilgrimage pushing her walker down the street, now without arms available to carry her stuffed dog, but with the same determination to reach her remote destination—a few blocks away. away.
You may think of blaming the heartless person who allows you to wander through the dangerous city streets. However, for those of us who have observed her, we know that if walking is something common and irrelevant for us, for her in her disability, it is her life.
In our coming and going through life, there will come a time when we will not be able to make the return trip. It will not matter how far we have come, but rather the effort put into each step to achieve our goal.
In the meantime, I will continue to watch her with admiration as she completes a marathon every day.
M. Ch. Landa
