Improved

She can’t see, but she makes regular life look different.
Late March snow seems less like an unwelcome delay to spring and more like a gift, one more chance for her brother to stand at the window transfixed, one more opportunity to wear thick socks with boots and to marvel at each miniscule mathematical miracle as it falls.
A sink full of dirty dishes feels far from a nuisance, and nearer a sign of fortune.  Our tongues can taste and our teeth can chew and we get to sit around the table with people we love enjoying several square meals each day. 
The disappearance of her abilities is diminished, some, by her beauty, by the way her light gathers the proverbial moths to flame and gives attention to science and the someday promise of undoing the damage the disease wreaks.
She can’t see, but somehow she has improved my vision.
JEB