forgotten?

I have felt forgotten these past couple of months. This disability was seeping into my core and I was allowing it to rob me of my joy. Every little hurdle was a mountain and Barkley was accustomed to the outbursts of screams and tears that happened daily. My frustration level was extremely high and I no longer felt the courage to face FA head on. My patience was running thin and I was weary of waiting for USF to call inviting me to be a part of a new study. My friends and family had lives worth living and my life failed in comparison. I was lonely, bored, stuck and forgotten. All words that are disheartening to describe the life you are attempting to live.
One day I was checking out at Walgreens with items that I needed. Who doesn't need to try a new hair cream for your hair when it's a natural frizz in this humidity? I could feel the older man behind me staring at Barkley. As I was reaching for my wallet in my butt bag, (my mom made me a bag out of the behind of a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans that hangs behind my wheelchair) the man and I made eye contact. I mustered up a fake smile as he quietly gave the cashier his credit card and gestured for me to put mine away. Before I knew it, I had my bag of items bagged and on my lap. With tears in my eyes, I turned to this stranger and said, "sir, you do not have to do that." His only reply was asking me my dogs name. At training they suggest we make up a name to give them in efforts to not distract our service dog. I felt this interaction required honesty and I was still trying to comprehend what had just happened, I feebly replied, "His name is Barkley." With a grin on his face he said, "My son has a dog named, Barkley."
And with that, the exchange was over. We resumed our lives and I was stunned.
The whole way home I think I was faintly crying-more like a whimper. I questioned whether or not I even thanked this kind soul.
And I was reminded of how I am not forgotten.
If that wasn't enough, a week later, I opened my mail to find a note from my sister, Christy. Her daughter, Kennedy had written an essay describing a hero in her life. The essay was entitled, "She Sits in a Wheelchair". It only took two sentences and I was weeping into my hands. Kennedy began the essay with these words, "My hero is the person I turn to everyday, my role model. My hero is important to me and leads me in the right direction. My hero is Aunt Holly, and my hero happens to be in a wheelchair."
Gulp.
God used a complete stranger and my awesome niece to remind me that people are watching how I respond when the going gets tough.
He hasn't forgotten that I'm still fighting.

me and my niece, Kennedy

The road is long but I am trusting it will be worth it in the end.
Thank you old man and beautiful Kennedy.
You got me out of the pit.