Cirilo arrived at one of our distributions in Mexico this fall in his Sunday finest. Quiet and somber he waited with his daughter-in-law for his turn. He’d never had a wheelchair before, and beneath his stoic expression he was eager for the moment he could set down his worn cane and move without debilitating pain.

Cirilo cropped smThe last five years have been hard for Cirilo. His broken left knee never healed correctly, two toes on one foot were amputated, he lost vision in his left eye, complications from four years of dialysis have weakened his left arm, and hardest of all his wife died three years ago. Unable to work or care for himself, he’s been living with his daughter-in-law while his son works in Mexico City. It’s been a strain on all of them.

When a volunteer asked Cirilo if he had a nickname, he got choked up. His wife used to call him “Pedacito” or “little piece.” It started when she would call him for dinner, “Where’s my little piece of my heart?” Over the years he became her “Pedacito.” Waves of emotion washed over him as he talked about his wife.

Then—seated in his own GEN_2 wheelchair—Cirilo smiled and announced he would call his chair, “Pedacito.”

Thank you for giving Cirilo a little piece of his heart. In providing mobility, we are giving more than a means of movement, we are giving a little piece of what’s been missing for so many people.

Don Schoendorfer


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