Today while out on a (st)roll, I witnessed a toddler run out into the street in front of a car. I was unable to do what every molecule in me demanded: race to the boy and snatch him up out of harm’s way. I couldn’t even scream in horror or point and shout so a neighbor would notice and intervene. I could only watch.

Luckily, just as the child reached the middle of the road, the boy’s mother realized he had wandered off and saved him.

I thought by now I knew what it is to be helpless. When I fall, I can’t get up. I am not able to feed, bathe, or dress myself. I can’t even be left alone for more than one hour. I had no idea, though.

Now, I know.

Image credit – Marc Chagall’s “Un champ de ble apres-midi d’un ete”