The Coming Darkness

“We won’t always be here for you. You do understand that, right?”

“I know, but that still doesn’t explain why I have to do laundry. I can’t see the buttons on the washing machine, remember? Eyes no work anymore.”

“What will you do when dad and I are gone? You can’t depend on your brother for everything. He’s got a family now. He can help you get situated, help you find the assistance you need, but you’re going to have to learn the basics at some time.”

“I’ve got bump dots on the microwave. That’s something.”

“Yes, that’s a very basic function. You can heat up frozen food. You will still have to go food shopping, learn how to make your own doctor appointments and keep the dates, find your own ways to get places, reach out for assistance when you need help for your taxes, insurance, living costs, bills, and nearly a trillion other things.”

“So how’s laundry supposed to help me?”

“It’s a responsibility, Tom. You gotta learn how to do chores on a regular basis. Who will be cleaning your toilet? Who will prepare your needles? Who will fight Social Security on your behalf?”

“Morgan and Morgan?”

“I wish. Maybe if you get injured or someone doesn’t recognize ADA accommodations.”

“Oh, but DEI doesn’t exist anymore.”

“DEI may not be honored at the government level, but ADA is still a thing, especially for blind people. You know that. That’s why you want to go into the legal field. To find for the legal rights of the blind and visually impaired.”

“Isn’t blindness the ‘I’ in ‘DEI’?”

“A store or restaurant cannot deny your dog.”

“Maybe not, but Lyft and Uber certainly don’t want this dog in the car.”

“The Department of Justice is working on it. Yes, a lot of rideshares are denying dogs, but they’re starting to lose cases, and paying out millions of dollars per case can get expensive.”

“This is where Morgan and Morgan come in.”

“Yes, but what I’m telling you is you have to become more aware of how you store information and keep it safe, how you keep track of your studies, how to keep track of your health. You’ve got so many things going against you, and Dad and I have to make you do things on your own more. You’re 27 years old. We’re…much older.”

“Sixty, Mom, you’re 60.”

“Maybe. That just underscores the urgency for you to practice and forge your independence. Next year we’re sending you to your state conference on a plane. But you’re going to pack your own things. You’re going to call the airline and ask for assistance. We’ll drive you there, but if you don’t bring enough underwear, that’s on you.”

“I can’t tell what shirts I have, and which clothes match. I can’t wear T-shirts to formal meetings and presentations.”

“Then let Lighthouse for the Blind help you in identifying clothing with labels that use readers. If we have to purchase those kinds of things, then we will. You just have to use it all the time and not rely on us so much. As your blindness progresses, you’ll find things harder to do. If you practice now, you will be able to make it on your own.

“Mom, I’m afraid.”

“I know. You think we’re not worried about you? When you called to tell me that a car hit you, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. My mama bear in me woke up and I was ready to go bat shit crazy on that guy.”

“It could have been worse.”

“And that’s what makes this so important. Doing your own laundry. Your own cooking. Your own appointments. Eventually, taking care of your own seeing-eye dog. Getting a job. Making sure you’re safe. All these things take time and practice.”

“But you’re so good and sorting out my clothes.”

“Because I have working eyeballs, remember? You got the crazy chromosome.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot for THAT.”

“Hey, neither Dad nor I had any inkling that this was floating around in our gene pool. Instead, we have to focus on the future, and what would be in your best interest.”

“And that starts with laundry?”

“You gotta look at the bigger picture, Tom.”

“Mom, I can’t look at anything.”

“Jeez, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t feel like doing laundry today.”

“I know exactly what that feels like. I don’t feel like cooking every day, but we gotta eat. I don’t feel like cleaning, but we don’t want to live in filth. I don’t like fixing stuff, but it’s cheaper than hiring repairmen when I can get a replacement part for a couple of bucks on Amazon.”

“I have Alexa and Siri to help.”

“Yes, you do. But riddle me this: how are you going to pay for that stuff when Dad and I are gone? It’s a terrible thing to think about, but it will happen one day. How are you going to pay your bills and navigate finances?”

“My inheritance?”

“Your inheritance and beneficiary income will only take you so far. Then how will you live? In a group home? With roommates? These are things you have to investigate now and network with your other blind friends on how they make it work. Most people don’t understand the enormity of problems that blind people face.”

“Great. I have so much to look forward to.”

“Really?”

“Sorry, I have so many obstacles in front of me.”

“That you do. But you’ll never have to see ugly things or see awful people doing terrible things.”

“Yes, but I’ll still be able to hear it all.”

“Tell me how you’ll hear art.”

“The other stuff. I can hear and smell better than other people.”

“Yes, you can. Not everything will be roses. Will that be enough for you to survive on your own?”

“No. But I’ll always remember what it was like to be able to see.”

“Then-“

“Fine. I’ll do my laundry.”