Jonathan Mendez, United States

“Technically she’s my mum’s dog.” Jonathan is talking about Roxy, a 2.5-kg (5.5-pound) Yorkshire Terrier who is generally to be found enthroned on Jonathan’s lap. “I can feel the pressure of her weight and the warmth of her body”, he says, stroking her long, soft blue-tan coat. Roxy’s eyes glance up, acknowledging Jonathan’s praise.

The two are a portrait of contentment there, at the dining table. Papa sits silently on the sofa in the adjacent living area. The adoration between grandfather and grandson is palpable. Papa. Tall, slender, with tender eyes and a patently tender heart. Some things needn’t be affirmed to be known. Jonathan. Seated, slender, handsome with inquisitive dark brown eyes and a forbearing heart. Papa lives close by, with Jonathan’s aunt, and is a frequent visitor. Weekends are special. Papa picks Jonathan up and off they go. It’s not the destination that matters, he assures me, but rather the excursion, the camaraderie, the fresh air, the ease. “We sometimes drive to Dolphin Mall. Not to shop, really. Just to hang out and ride the escalators.”

Papa is Jonathan’s maternal grandfather. He and Jonathan share an immortal bond. Mama, Papa’s wife, passed away before the accident. And Mama, well, Mama is irreplaceable. The relationship forged between grandfather and grandson at the time of Jonathan’s birth, is as solid as oak, as fluid as water, permeating every pore, every corpuscle, rejuvenating, evermore.

Jonathan’s family is close-knit. Loyalty is a given. So, too, mutual respect, admiration and a selfless regard for each other’s well-being and security. Family is home, a bastion of hope and trust, faith and renewal. Home is family. That includes Roxy. And Pumpkin, a skittish stray dog rescued from the side of a road, a soul like any other, worthy of love.

“Everybody needs family”, says Jonathan, extending a reassuring hand, which Pumpkin affectionately licks. And Coco, a Quaker Parrot that typically perches on Jonathan’s shoulder, launching into the air from time to time for a brief flight around the interior space.

Memorial Day weekend 2002. Jonathan, a high school senior, travels to Key Biscayne with his dad. They bring their bicycles. Jonathan packs his skates. “I couldn’t live without my skates. The minute I got home from school, I’d grab them and be out the door again.”

May 27 Monday. Jonathan and his dad cycle for miles along the strand; now it’s time for some hot dogs. Jonathan knows just the place and decides to skate rather than bike there. Picking up speed on the downward slope of the bridge, hot dogs and trimmings in hand, the smack of salt on his lips from the unremitting sea breeze cresting the island, the warmth of tropical sun on his skin, the sheen of the tarmac, the pride of being in control, fit, agile, young. Life is good.

Seven months. That’s how long Jonathan spent recuperating from the event that forced him to retire his skates, pack away his bike. Seven months recovering from that indelible instant, one we label tragic. What else might we call it? In that instant, life as Jonathan knew it changed irrevocably. And what of a cure? Maybe, one day. They’re working on it.

The car came out of nowhere. Crushing Jonathan’s L1 vertebrae, breaking his ribs, his scapula.

“All I remember is how much it hurt. Like someone hit me in the back with a crowbar.”

Seven months. Two surgeries. Lost ground. The second surgery was a return to the beginning. But the resolve to reclaim his independence remained. And of course, there was his family. The backbone of his life.

Roxy raises her head, yawns, repositions herself on Jonathan’s lap. “I’m lucky”, he says. “I can do almost everything myself.” Except drive. He’s still waiting for the funding for hand controls to come through. “I feel like a teenager, having to ask to be driven everywhere.”

Jonathan is working to finish up his bachelor’s degree, after which he hopes to study medicine. “Neurology”, he says matter-of-factly. “To treat people with spinal cord injuries, like myself. So when they describe shooting pains in their legs that feel like volts of electricity, I’ll know exactly what they mean.”

Love is adversity’s fiercest adversary. Familial love especially, the embodiment of home. Jonathan knows he is blessed. Blessed to be alive. Blessed to feel the weight and warmth of Roxy on his lap. Blessed to have almost fully regained his independence. Blessed.

“Time passes. Seasons come and go. Life is a journey, inequitably remarkable and marred. And love, love is evermore.”