We used to vacation as a family at Severn Lodge, a lovely little family-run resort on the Trent-Severn waterway, a couple of hours north of the city. These photos were taken during one of those vacations, in 2004, and are representative of the love and general goofiness between Angus and Owen.
I am reminded of something in these photos – Owen’s wheelchair was an integral part of him and his identity. Angus used to hang off of it, sit in it, decorate it, push it around… If we were walking down the street together Angus would always seek to maintain contact with it somehow.
I hated the equipment for the most part. The maintenance, the unreliability, the immense space each took up, the fear of a broken wheelchair – the reality of which would bring about impossible situations. As my blogging pals continue to suffer the indignities of relying on equipment and related services for quality of life for their children, I find myself feeling sentimental.
I hear his wheelchair creaking as he wiggles. I see the trackmarks and dirt in the carpet he leaves behind. I smell the vaguely sickly scent of leaked formula and sweat that penetrates the foam cushions. I feel the comfort of seeing Owen’s wheelchair because it means he must be close by.
The day I donated his equipment was one of the hardest days.