My daughter Charlotte, who is now 13 years old, is a keen supporter of the Queen Alexandra
Foundation for Children (QA). Our whole family has benefitted from QA’s help, and over the years,
we’ve attended many fundraising events at the request of QA. Charlotte has twice met and
presented her poetic writings to the Lieutenant-Governor, graced the cover of the QA newsletter,
and even appears on the QA website, along with her sister, Sarah, now nine.
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Here, we’re at the lululemon “Yogathon” fundraiser for QA. Charlotte and a few other QA regulars
are attending and performing their own brand of yoga. The instructor is a bit perplexed as to how
to proceed, but she need not worry. These kids are experts at adapting their abilities to a
“typical needs” world.
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I’m there, as usual, with camera in hand. When I reviewed the shots, I recognized this familiar
moment: I’ve seen it with Charlotte many times, and I know what that posture means. In a
quiet moment, when nobody is looking, she studies Sarah’s leg movements. Her face speaks in
wonder ... how does she do that? No doubt there’s more to her thoughts, but contemplating that
tears at the heart.
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When people learn of Charlotte’s condition, they’re always sympathetic ... “How sad.” My response
is that we know she’ll never climb mountains, but then again, I don’t climb mountains, either.
There’s more to life than climbing mountains.
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And yet, that’s not entirely true. Mountains come in all shapes and sizes, and together, we climb
them every day – stairs at a birthday party, narrow aisles in a toy store, narrow minds
... most people don’t see Charlotte’s mountains, even though for her, they are just higher than most.
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Mark Heine