I Will Not Forget You
Stories
Shining Moments
Visions Of The Holy In Ordinary Lives
J. Michael Mansfield
My best friend from seminary and his spouse were surprised and upset to learn that the third child they were expecting had Down's syndrome. They didn't have any warning. Some of their friends were adamant that, if they just prayed hard enough, this child, named "Joe," would be normal. They prayed. They tried to believe. Joe was born with Down's syndrome, and that was as "normal" as he would be.
We watched Joe grow up. We were present in their home when he had his first "solo" BM. We, along with his parents, were there to see the proud look on his face as he showed us his first poop. We were nearby when he developed respiratory infections, and ear infections, and finally hearing difficulties. Yes, Joe was a greater struggle than the other kids, but since his mom was a nurse, and both Mom and Dad were compassionate Christians, it didn't seem too difficult for them.
Four years after Joe's birth, my wife and I accompanied our friends to the Catholic Social Services building where we saw them receive their newly adopted child, Mike, who was also a Down's child. The miracle of healing had occurred. No, Joe's Down's wasn't eliminated. It was just that Down's syndrome had become something healthy in the vocabulary of his parents (and their friends as well). My friends had recognized that God had given them unique gifts for working with Down's syndrome children; and they wanted to share their gifts with another child with "the problem."
Joe graduated from high school and is now working full-time in the hospitality industry, in the laundry at a major hotel.
Mike is still in school. He will almost certainly graduate and go to work someday.
I often think of my friends and their four wonderful children, two of whom have greater challenges, when I hear of someone contemplating terminating a pregnancy. Most people, if given the time, would probably think that Joe and Mike were more blessing than difficulty. These two boys, now in their late teens and early twenties, are the most loving, huggable persons I have ever known.
My best friend from seminary and his spouse were surprised and upset to learn that the third child they were expecting had Down's syndrome. They didn't have any warning. Some of their friends were adamant that, if they just prayed hard enough, this child, named "Joe," would be normal. They prayed. They tried to believe. Joe was born with Down's syndrome, and that was as "normal" as he would be.
We watched Joe grow up. We were present in their home when he had his first "solo" BM. We, along with his parents, were there to see the proud look on his face as he showed us his first poop. We were nearby when he developed respiratory infections, and ear infections, and finally hearing difficulties. Yes, Joe was a greater struggle than the other kids, but since his mom was a nurse, and both Mom and Dad were compassionate Christians, it didn't seem too difficult for them.
Four years after Joe's birth, my wife and I accompanied our friends to the Catholic Social Services building where we saw them receive their newly adopted child, Mike, who was also a Down's child. The miracle of healing had occurred. No, Joe's Down's wasn't eliminated. It was just that Down's syndrome had become something healthy in the vocabulary of his parents (and their friends as well). My friends had recognized that God had given them unique gifts for working with Down's syndrome children; and they wanted to share their gifts with another child with "the problem."
Joe graduated from high school and is now working full-time in the hospitality industry, in the laundry at a major hotel.
Mike is still in school. He will almost certainly graduate and go to work someday.
I often think of my friends and their four wonderful children, two of whom have greater challenges, when I hear of someone contemplating terminating a pregnancy. Most people, if given the time, would probably think that Joe and Mike were more blessing than difficulty. These two boys, now in their late teens and early twenties, are the most loving, huggable persons I have ever known.
