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Strings of wet hair hung
down my neck and back. The diaper bag I had been carrying was dropped
right inside the door of this small, but comfortable space, we called our
own, and now was a welcome site. The lavender, paisley dress this morning
that had been so fresh and clean was now a soggy heap on the floor as I
stepped out of it. After rubbing my hair vigorously with a towel, I took
it and wrapped it around my head.
My mind was over loaded
with the sites and sorrows I had endured that day. Who knew there were
children shut away from the world like this simply because they were less
than perfect? What sort of a civilization could treat them in such an
Oliver Twist manner? The eyes and little hands of those who were in their
beds reaching out to touch me as if I had been something rare and special.
“Are you my Mommy?” One of
them had asked and I knew the memory of that question was to stay with me
for a lifetime. Then, there was the therapy to make a child cry out in
pain. It was if he had suffered this many times and had almost learned to
endure it. Sweet baby faces under helmets, standing in stiff legged steel
braces made an imprint upon my mind like a hot branding iron hitting the
rump of a young calf. Even those cried out in a greater way than these
children did.
Suddenly, I became aware
Rod's aunt was not the pillar of trust I had imagined her to be. I knew
now there was an element of power here. I had to face it. If Auntie Pud
was the driving force behind these decisions to be made, then, certainly,
it was in agreement with what her brother, Rod's Dad and Mother had, no
doubt, discussed with her. From this time on there was to be only a moment
to moment, situation; where upon these decisions would have to be made. I
was young, but there was still the love and respect I had for my Uncle
Dennis, Mother and Dad.
“Soon,” I thought to
myself, “A call home will be necessary.” My feeling was that this was more
than a bit over my head. “Uncle Dennis will know what to do.” I thought to
myself. This was a new world of shadowy shades of black and white as far
as having to cope with what was now happening in my life. I knew what my
commitment was all about as far as the ethics going into marriage,
divorce, faith, loyalty and all those things. This was another issue and,
for sure, there seemed to be a well entrenched, established method of
dealing with the disabled. What was right? What was the thing that would
please my Creator? There was all too much, just too much to think through.
Picture of Uncle Dennis:
“You will need to see after
Rhonda? Please? My love? I'm past going and can't seem to stay awake any
longer. Just let me snuggle down here in this warm bed for a while?” It
was more than a while, though, because there was darkness outside when I
awoke.
“I can't believe you let me
sleep all this time. Is this proof there is really rest for the weary? How
does that saying go? There is no rest for the wicked? Anyway, thank you,
Sweetheart, for letting me sleep.”
“You needed the rest and we
did all right, Rhonda and I.” Rodney was his usual noncommittal, self.
“If you don't mind watching
her a bit longer, I'll get a quick shower?”
Now, for the first time, I
learned that if the shower was turned full onto my face there could be
silent weeping with no one hearing or being disturbed by my grief. |
