秋の日差しを背中に受けて、３本の足が動く影を追う。
視覚を持たずに生まれてきた娘にとって、３本目の足は舵取りになる。
この光景を見つめることが、どれほど感慨深いことかとふり返る。
人間が起き上がり、垂直に活動していることを知らない娘は、
４歳になっても、地面に足をつけることさえ恐れおののいた。
ブラインドスクールの幼稚園では、毎日何時間も泣き続けた。
卒園式、腰を支えられて大地を踏みしめる姿に、私が涙した。
手引き歩行が出来るようになったのは、スペシャルスクールに入ってから。
杖を持つという概念を教えるまでに、干支がひとまわり以上した。
白杖の本来の役割を知らない娘は、今でもそれを持つことすら嫌がる。
機嫌が良い時だけ、３本目の足を、得意そうに握って歩く。
なんてことのない光景。
でも、かけがえのない時間が、流れていく。
With the autumn sunshine at my back, I watch a shadow with three moving legs.
To my daughter, who was born without sight, this third leg is the one who steers the ship.
As I observe the scene, I reflect over how emotional it was to get to this point.
My daughter has never known humans as creatures that stand up and operate vertically.
Even at four years old, she was terrified just to put her feet on the ground.
In kindergarten for blind children, she had cried for hours and hours every day.
I wept at her graduation ceremony when she stepped out onto the ground with her instructor's support.
It wasn't until she started special school that she learned how to walk.
It had taken more than twelve years before she had grasped the concept of holding a cane.
My daughter, who doesn't understand the purpose of a white cane, still refuses to even hold hers.
However, when she is in a good mood, she walks with her third leg proudly in hand.
It's an ordinary kind of sight, but as time drifts along, moments like these cannot be irreplaceable.
