The following is first in a twelve-post series.
When Taylor first met her classmates at a small private school in Charlotte at the beginning of her third grade year, she had long honey-blonde hair, most of her vision and all of her speech.
For six years, those kids stood by my little sister while a monster called Batten disease attacked her present and future. They included her in their talent show skits, invited her into their circle at school dances and always saved a seat for her at their lunch table in the cafeteria.
This past year – Taylor’s last at the school – her classmates organized a “cardio craze” fundraiser for Taylor’s Tale. In the packed gym – nearly the entire student body and most of the faculty and staff attended – my sister’s friends took her hands in theirs and danced with her throughout the event; when the local celebrity leading the event invited the girls onto the stage at the end, the girls acted as my blind sister’s eyes, leading her up the narrow steps and onto the stage to her place of honor for one final dance.
Taylor’s friends could make her eyes light up – I mean really LIGHT UP, like windows to her soul, like pure, unbridled joy. I didn’t think blind eyes could do that until I saw Taylor’s.
Those kids are miniature angels. They give me reason to believe.