It would seem that I’m not the only person to lament the loss of a wheelchair. I came across this eulogy by Stella Young earlier. It’s a beautifully written piece (especially for an australian) articulating the emotional attachment some of us crips feel for our chairs. They’re not just mobility aids, not just tools for getting from A to B: they are liberators. As Young points out, most norms se them as signifiers of weakness, illness or desease, but to us they are objects of supreme pride and strength. Poetically addressing her chair, young writes ”You have been an integral, unwavering support to me. With you I have finished high school, had my first kiss, moved away from home and begun my adult life. I have fallen in love in you, had my heart broken in you, lost my virginity… beside you. I have jumped for joy on your trusty seat, turned my head and sobbed into your backrest. I have danced and laughed and become someone.” Our chairs are part of who we are, and a source of power. They are metonyms for disability, this supremely vibrant community full of wonderful people in which I’m proud to belong, and as such my chair is part of my very being.