A MIRACLE

 

Clara leaned out the window to feel the fresh early morning air. At the edge of the windowsill, she saw the sad, withered geranium, wilted and shriveled, as much in need of water as she was of a sense of security and control over her own body. The flare-up was still active, evident in her persistent weakness, her blurred vision, and the strange numbness that coursed through her body and face.

Across the street, she saw the blind woman she often crossed paths with, walking with her usual determined stride—a woman with a confident air, always well-dressed, carrying that dignity that comes with age and experience. How could someone with such a disability manage to live the active life she seemed to lead?

She looked away. Her eyes ached if she focused on a single point for too long. Another symptom of the flare-up. At first, it had been just minor discomforts, small functional glitches—words that wouldn’t come to mind, a light-headedness that pulled her away from her chores, a slight clumsiness when reaching for something… Then, things became more complicated, in every sense. The diagnosis was final: multiple sclerosis. Two words that had burst into her life with the arrogance of something that had come to take over.

There were truces, of course—days when she was Clara again. The teacher. The mother. The woman who could climb stairs without counting each step. But those were rare. Most of the time, the “monster” took command of her life, and she could only try to minimize the discomfort in her body.

But now, she had to go to the supermarket. Could she make it without falling? Would she be able to reach the corner without the dizziness overtaking her again?

The medical leave from the school gave her a certain margin of peace to take care of the most urgent tasks at a slower pace than usual, while she waited for the symptoms to ease with time and the prescribed medication. The kids—her son and daughter—also helped out where they could, but Clara knew they had to focus on their studies above all.

She stepped out onto the street, keeping close to the building’s façade for support and balance, embarking on the adventure of covering the uncertain distance to the nearby shop where she usually did her shopping. She had to turn the corner now. Clara feared that rotating her body might intensify her dizziness, so she leaned against the wall to change direction.

Just then, coming from the opposite direction, the blind woman was walking along, sweeping her white cane from side to side to find the tactile cues that guided her path. Clara, absorbed in her own sensations, didn’t see the woman in time, and the cane brushed against her feet, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground.

—I’m so sorry, terribly sorry!—the blind woman exclaimed, bending down and extending a hand toward the fallen woman.

—Don’t worry,—Clara murmured weakly, pulling herself up with the help of the hand—surprisingly firm—and the support of the building’s wall.—I was distracted and didn’t see you in time.

—Are you alright?—the blind woman asked.—You seem very… shaken. Are you hurt?

—No. Don’t worry. It’s nothing. It’s just… I get dizzy. It’ll pass soon.

—Come on, come with me. Let’s have a little coffee at that café just around the corner.

Still a bit dazed from the stumble, and quite surprised by the blind woman’s clarity and composure, Clara let herself be led to the café.

Once seated and comforted with coffee and churros, the two women moved from small talk to the delicate territory of personal matters.

Clara took the opportunity to vent her heavy mood, which had lingered since the confirmation of her diagnosis, and opened up to the woman who, despite her blindness, displayed admirable resilience and commitment to life. The woman listened attentively and, once Clara finished unburdening herself, she said:

—I understand what you’re going through. I had a similar experience when I lost my sight, many years ago.

—And how did you manage to recover? I see you walking down this street almost every day, and I admire your confidence, your determination. I’ve often wondered if you work… if you have a job…

—I’m a lawyer,—the woman replied.—I work at a law firm. I went to law school after losing my sight, and I really enjoy my work.

—And how does someone achieve that?

—Work in a law firm?

—No. I mean… feeling awful and still moving forward, normalizing life in spite of a disadvantage… I feel like giving up, like abandoning everything. Sometimes I wish I were dead…

The woman remained silent for a moment, as if searching for the right response to Clara’s anguish. Then she asked:

—Are you married?

—Separated. We split up three years ago. When my flare-ups started getting more frequent and intense.

—Children?

—Two. A boy who’s sixteen and a girl who’s thirteen.

—And what do you do for work?

—I’m a literature teacher at a secondary school.

—Do you enjoy your job?

—I used to. But now… with everything going on, it’s really stressful—dealing with the students, the tensions with colleagues…

Another silence fell. A thought crossed Clara’s mind—that if the woman had said she was a therapist instead of a lawyer, this would feel like her first therapy session. The lawyer slowly finished her coffee and resumed speaking.

—When I lost my sight, I had to learn to live all over again. I think you’re going to have to do something similar with your multiple sclerosis.

—Yes. I understand. But I don’t know where to start…

—Well,—the lawyer said gently,—imagine that tonight a miracle happens.

—A miracle?

—Yes. Imagine that something happens within you while you sleep, and although you still have multiple sclerosis and its ups and downs, your depressive thoughts, your wish to give up or die… no longer weigh you down the same way.

—Oh! That would be wonderful.

—Yes, it would. But you wouldn’t yet know that the miracle had occurred. How would you start to notice its presence in your life?

—Well… I don’t know. I suppose I’d feel better…

—And what would you do? What do you think would be the first sign of the miracle?

Clara paused to think, then replied:

—You might think it’s silly,—she said, glancing away as if searching for the place where her geranium used to grow, while placing a hand on her chest, a gesture of tenderness toward the plant,—but I think the first thing I’d do is try to save the geranium on my windowsill…

—The geranium…

—Yes. I’d need to loosen the soil, water it, maybe add some fertilizer. If I don’t do something soon, I think the poor thing won’t survive much longer.

—Wonderful. And what else would you do? Remember, you still have multiple sclerosis—the only thing that has changed is your outlook.

—My children, of course. I need to talk with my son about his future, the studies he wants to pursue. And with my daughter… there’s so much I want to tell her, to advise her on.

—And your work?

—Ah! My students need me. I’m the tutor of a class. They need support too. We could organize activities to encourage reading, maybe some staged readings… We could rehearse a play for the end of the year!

—All that, with your sclerosis…

—Yes. Well… I do have remission phases. And I can manage the flare-ups as they come.

—Just like I manage my blindness…

There was a brief silence. Then the lawyer continued:

—Then the miracle is already here. All you need now is to realize it’s already in motion. Do you need to buy fertilizer for the geranium? There’s a flower shop just nearby…

Clara said nothing. She took the woman’s hand and squeezed it firmly.

—Thank you. Thank you so much for running into me—and for this coffee and churros I’ll never forget.

The lawyer smiled, pleased.

—I haven’t even asked your name yet,—Clara said.—I’m Clara. And you? What’s your name?

The woman brought her hand to her mouth to hide the laughter welling up, and replied cheerfully:

—Lucía. My name is Lucía… Yes, like the patron saint of vision,—and added,—though the most important thing isn’t seeing outward, but learning how to look within…