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I looked up to see my father shaking his head, fingers pensively gripping his chin.

What! I could hear and I was certain that my mother could, too. Egad! Just because a person can’t speak, doesn’t mean they can not hear!

I looked hard at the man and said, “You can speak to my mother directly, you know.”

Startled, my father began to back out the door with abject apologies to the man.

Aghast, I was. Flabbergasted that my father would flaunt my absolute knowledge of speech-language pathology and victims of stroke. It was an education that he’d paid for when I went to Purdue.

The good news is that I didn’t chase the men down the hall and back them up to a wall.

To smack them. No, I did something better.

I turned to my mother, lifted her head with a gentle finger, and looked into her sad eyes. “Don’t you let anyone ever speak at you or about you over your head and not include you in conversation. You are my mother and you are worth it!

Thus, I empowered my mother. The speech pathologist began to work on more than her swallow, often a victim of stroke.

My mother may have flailed, but she spoke among a ring of her femal friends on the grounds, outside where I’d wheeled her chair, the next day.

I almost kissed, but I didn’t want to divert her friends’ attention elsewhere. I nodded and she continued. She improved and improved and improved.

The bad news is that she didn’t live more than six weeks after, but the good news is that I changed the dynamic, something that I was born to do.

Be the change you wish to see in the world, in the moment… and –

If you need a miracle, there you are. My speech-language pathology degree put to its best use. Ever.