Friendship carved in Braille

A Catholic friend told me about the elderly Mrs. Allen. She lived across town in "another parish" whatever that meant. and needed a ride to Mass. Apparently her seeing eye dog was aging and had to be retired. Her husband, also blind, could not drive her. I debated. I hadn't been driving long, and I wasn't Catholic. On the other hand, I'd been told that at some point in my life I would be blind, and so far, I wasn't. I could, with my very thick glasses see all the beauty that I could find in the world. Individual leaves on trees and even their veins, and their texture filled me with reverence. What better way for me to express my gratitude? What better way to use the gift of sight I still enjoyed? I decided to at least take time to meet Mrs. Allen.

When she answered the door it was dusk and the interior of her house was pitch dark.

"Turn on the light for our guest, please." She reminded her husband. He did so with no stumbling or bumping.

Introductions included a boxer dog wearing a harness.

"She doesn't really work anymore," Mrs. Allen explained. "but she still insists on wearing it. She's very sweet but please don't pet her. She knows that people shouldn't when she is dressed for work."

That's how it all began. Every Sunday, I drove Mrs. Allen to Mass and afterward Mr. Allen cooked breakfast for us. While we waited for the coffee cake to come out of the oven, Mrs. Allen would frequently begin writing a letter to a friend. The sound of the hand held stylette tapping out mysterious patterns and messages in Braille intrigued me.

"What does that say?" I'd ask. "What does that mean?"

So on one memorable Sunday Mrs. Allen gave me my own Braille instruction book, a Braille board and my own stylette.

"We can write each other. You can write out the poems you love and I can read them anytime. You won't have to recite them to me."

Patiently she showed me the basics of writing and reading Braille, and sent me off to learn. Every week she checked my progress and encouraged me.

In Braille I also encouraged her. We would build her endurance walking around the college track three times a week, and soon she would meet the requirements to apply for another seeing eye dog.

Mrs. Allen's application was finally approved and Dagmar joined her household. I thought I would no longer be needed, but Mrs. Allen assured me that the young Lab needed further training. All the standing and the kneeling involved in Catholic worship did prove a bit challenging for Dagmar. Many times I thought the pew would tumble over as Dagmar tried to leap suddenly to her feet.

Mrs. Allen has long since passed away, and her canine assistants are no doubt with her. When I see the metal Braille numbers in elevators I remember the sound of Mrs. Allen's writiing, and the hours I spent learning to read and write a language unique to  our friendship.