Will You Please Be My Heart

Will You Please Be My Heart

I lace up my running shoes and draw back my waist length hair. I take exaggerated breaths to prepare my mind and my body.

With all my heart. With all my heart. With all my heart.

I will run this race with all my heart for the one who can’t. I will be the feet, I will be the voice, I will be the heart. I will wake up. I will keep carrying on, with all my heart.

 

Multiple sclerosis. It was a word I couldn’t pronounce, a word too complicated to say. It was reduced to, “My grandma has MS. She can’t walk.” And that was the explanation for the chair with wheels that moved by an electrical stick shift, like the one from the original Pac-man arcade game I played as a child. It was my ride, my go-cart. It was what kept me attached to the one I loved to no end. I sat atop the legs that had not stretched or strained a muscle in twenty years, my own wobbly kneed limbs draped over hers. She would nuzzle her chin into the space between my shoulder blades.

The weight of my five-year-old hug pulled her from the living room reclining chair. And there I lay, trapped and helpless in my full expression of love.

She passed down the creativity, the love of houses and space, of color and fabric. She was the seamstress, the bricklayer, the gardener. She was who I was slowly becoming.

Despite her setbacks, she taught me how to sew, beginning with pants and a shirt. She walked me through the process step by step with calculated description and the occasionally nod of her head to emphasize or redirect. The power of words were taught to me on those afternoons of the two of us, a kitchen table, and a task to mend us deeper than we realized. I learned to sew by the eyes, the twitch of the mouth, and the unspoken implications. She taught me to listen and watch with the utmost care.

 

Running was never something I willfully volunteered for. That is, until my junior year of high school, when my mom had me run relays with my sisters. She knew it would be something special – three sisters out of the four relay runners. When I fought it, when I was nervous and afraid, my parents would say, “Think of Grandma. Oh, what she would have given to be in your place. To run one more time.” It didn’t take long for my entire mindset to shift.

Years later when I somehow fell into running cross country in college, those words echoed in the forefront of my mind. Each time I shuffled amidst the crowd to the starting line, my mind went to the one who forever had my heart.

Run for Grandma. Oh, what she would have given to walk, to dance, to run one more day.

Instead of focusing on my nerves, on the pain waiting for me at the gun’s pull, on all the failures I could face, on the long journey laid out before me – I focused on the one who couldn’t. I set my mind on being her hands and her feet. Running a race she couldn’t run. Rejoicing in the movement of my legs. Being grateful for the capabilities I didn’t deserve. I thought of all that she had given me. All the joy and the love she lavished on me. I thought of the things she accomplished from the confinement of a chair.

I’ll be your hands.
You can be my speech.
I’ll do all I can, for you.

I’ll be your feet.
You can be my mind.
I’ll keep carrying on for you.

I’ll be your hands.
You can be my heart.
Will you please be my heart.

I’ll be your hands,
I’ll be your feet —
Will your please be my heart?