It was late, past 11 o’clock, when she came bumping down the hallway. Her head was tilted to the side, she had one wrist to her forehead, and her other hand trailed the wall. I was curled up on the sofa, reading. woking taxi

“What’s wrong?” I asked, as she came to stand in front of me with a serious look on her face. The look kids get when there is something on their mind that’s keeping them up at night. Something they’ve thought over that’s rolling around in their head. “Are you sick?” I asked. She shook her head no. I could tell she hadn’t been asleep yet. “What is it?” I asked. Her answer changed everything. It changed me, and her, and our family and the way we view the world and my faith. It took us places I couldn’t imagine, and gave us experiences we would find nowhere else and that we might not even take back if we had the option.

“Mommy, are you always supposed to see out of both of your eyes?” She was eight, and that’s what she said that changed the whole world. She had been for new glasses not two weeks before so my answer was swift, “What do you mean, your glasses aren’t working?” I asked. “No mommy, I asked Gabby (her best friend) at school, and she said she can always see out of her eyes. I can’t.”

I grabbed a magazine and flipped through it, selecting a two page sale ad spread, featuring a red mini van surrounded by the Rugrats. Angelica, her favorite, stood right out. “Which eye is better” I asked. She pointed to the right one. “Cover it” I commanded. I spread the magazine wide and stood across the room. “Can you see the picture?” I asked. She shook her head no. “Tell me what you see” I said, walking slowly toward her, finally settling the magazine in her lap. Fear settled in my belly. “What do you see now?” I asked, as I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “A pink circle” she said. With the other eye, she could see that it was a vehicle, but couldn’t make out details, even with her glasses on.