A simple act of love

By the time I graduated from college, I was ready to spread my wings. I got a job teaching special education at a school in Coachella, California, a desert town about 170 miles from home. It was no dream job. Low-income housing across the street from the school was a haven (避难所) for drug users. Street gangs (街头帮) hung around the school after dark.

"Be careful," Dad warned me during one of my frequent weekend visits home. He was concerned about my living alone, but I was 23, enthusiastic and naive, and I needed to be on my own.

"Don't worry," I reassured him, as I loaded up the car to start my trip back to the desert and my job.

Several evenings later I stayed after school to rearrange my classroom. Finished, I turned out the light and closed the door. Then I headed toward the gate. It was locked! I looked around. Everyone had gone home. I glanced at my watch — it was almost 6 P.M. I had been so engrossed (专注) in my work that I hadn't noticed the time.

After checking all the exists, I found just enough room to squeeze under a gate in the back of the school. I pushed my bag through first, lay on my back and slowly slipped through.

Horrible shadows fell across the street. Hurriedly, I picked up my bag in haste and walked toward my car, parked in a field behind the building. Suddenly, I heard voices. I glanced around and saw at least eight boys following me. They were half a block away. Even in the near darkness I could see they were street gangs.

"Hey! Let's get the young lady!" one boy shouted.

Quickening my pace, I reached into my bag to get my key ring (钥匙圈). "If I have the keys in my hands, I can unlock the car and get in before ..." I thought, my heart pounding. I felt all over the inside of my bag, but the key ring wasn't there. Suddenly, my fingers wrapped around a loose key (单独的一个钥匙). I didn't even know if it was for my car, but I took it out and held it firmly.

I ran across the grass to my car and tried the key.

When I returned to my apartment, the phone was ringing.

Her mouth open in both wonder and horror, Mia stares at the bush cricket that has landed in front of her on the picnic table. The girl is camping with her parents near Fish River Canyon in Namibia, in southwest Africa. During the first few months of a year-long trip through Africa, Asia and the Middle East, Mia is seeing the world with her parents. It is a family’s journey to see the world before it’s too late though.

Far from their home in Quebec, the families’ experiences, brimming with colour, shape, touch and smell, are especially important to them. Because unless science makes a break-through soon, the little daughter Mia will become blind, likely in adulthood. She has been diagnosed with a disease that has no effective treatment as it gradually robs her of sight.

For Mia’s parents, mom Edith and dad Sebastien, the diagnose came after a four-year search for the reason their daughter couldn’t see at night. Then Mia, banged into furniture that her mom and dad could make out once their eyes adjusted to the dark.

In 2013, when Mia was three, the family began a frustrating series of visits to doctors, none of whom had an answer for her lack of night vision. In 2015, as a last resort, a pediatric ophthalmologist (儿童眼科医生) enrolled the family in a research project in which their entire gene was mapped out. RP, the name of the disease which haunted the poor girl, affected the tissue at the back of the eye that interpreted images in both black and white, and colour. As the disease progresses, the cells in the middle, used for seeing in colour and for everyday activities like reading and writing, die off, too. The parents were called into the doctor’s office, where the specialist gave it to them straight: “So far, no cure.”

Mia waiting at home, the badly stricken parents stumbled back.

And so the idea of a year-long trip was born.

First as a wife, then as a mother, and later as a grandmother, for as long as Teressa could remember, she had always lived for others and never for herself. Being selfless is not everyone’s cup of tea, but for Teressa, that’s how she had spent all her life.

When Teressa was a little girl, she had big dreams. She spent hours in her room reading famous authors’ poetry. “I want to be a poet, Mommy! And I want to recite my poems on stage!” she said to her mother, who would smile back and assure her that her dreams would come true one day. But unfortunately, that did not happen.

Teressa’s poems were locked in her closet (壁橱) as life kept throwing new responsibilities at her. After her dad died, she had to look after her mother. Then after getting married came kids, and then the kids’ kids. And somewhere, Teressa’s talent, poems, and dream of performing on stage were left far behind.

One Sunday afternoon, her children and grandchildren were visiting her, and she had spent five hours preparing a big meal for them!

As the doorbell rang, Teressa opened her door. She smiled and hugged everyone as they entered. Brian was the youngest in the family. He loved Grandma Teressa. After enjoying dessert after lunch that day, Brian sat with Teressa looking at one of their family albums. “Can you bring me the album from my closet, honey?” Teressa asked. While searching for the album, Brian discovered a pile of papers behind her clothes.

“Granny!” he came running to her. “Are these yours? Do you write poems?” he asked. “Oh,” Teressa hid the papers nervously in the album. “Well, sometimes, honey. I wanted to read them on stage one day, but I never had the opportunity. Anyway, forget about that. Let’s go through the pictures.”

But Brian didn’t forget about his grandma’s poems. One week later, he visited her with an envelope, and as Teressa read the letter inside, her eyes were filled with tears.

Brian had signed Teressa up for a talent show.

After the interview, Teressa was offered an opportunity to write for the local newspaper.