Downright Joy

Discovering joy in unexpected places – a journey into Down's syndrome, Dyspraxia & Autism


4 Comments

Silent

Kneeling….

A silent letter goes before you, shaping your reason, your purpose, your meaning, as you enter.

Unheard.

A shaft of dust-filled light through a blackened open doorway; bathing her and me in so much warmth, and reaching only just beyond this moment. This heaviest of doors has only ever opened so far and I am grateful for all it never reveals. Today is enough.

I’ve tried to push the door open further. Take it off even. What lies beyond its hinges? Is it what I imagine? What I fear? I wonder if the words she once began to form are beyond it, waiting to return. Or are they lost forever? Silenced. Perhaps.

I don’t even know what it is I hope for anymore, let alone what I can admit to fear. I dare not go there. No matter, my arms have long since grown heavy summoning a strength that I do not possess for a day that I do not own. Today is enough.

I sink to my knees beside her hospital style bed. Her room a contented mix of teddies and tubes, socks and syringes. Devices and daydreams.

I begin where I began yesterday, and the day before that, and all the days before that.  She dangles her damaged ankles and calloused, misshapen feet over the side of the bed and waits expectantly for me to put on her socks. Followed by her hard, unforgiving plastic orthotic moulds, followed by her clumsy, heavy leather boots. I hear every word she does not say. Her sounds reverberate a silent and mysterious speech. Her thoughts so profound she dare not speak them to those who have no appreciation for such mystery.

How can something so irreparably damaged be so beautiful? How can one be so silent, yet so noisy?

I have learnt that what is damaged should not always be thrown away.

I adore her damaged feet. I adore her sounds. I adore her.

I sink into the depths of this holiest of spaces, this silent, unheard place where love dwells and discovery awaits. Where deep calls to deep. Where tectonic plates of pain and despair seismically shift along plates of joy and hope. The cracks formed long ago, and because of them, not in spite of them, I am swept up by this tsunami of love I now have for her. Tsunami with a silent T.

I catch my breath that I am here at all, and so is she.

Kneeling, with a silent K.


Leave a comment

Merry Go Round

Half way up the stairs.

We made it half way up the stairs. She is on her stairlift. I am holding down the control button.

The alarm is, well, alarming. It’s shrieking….. I’m no longer green. I’m red I’m red I’m red. And this is as far as I can go today.

I disagree with alarmist opinions, I always have.

Yesterday you were green. They said you were fixed. They said they couldn’t see anything majorly wrong. They looked, they tweaked, they said they did their best yesterday and indeed you were green. They hoped their remedy was permanent. 

So did I; the cost is mounting and climbing higher than any stairlift could ever go.

Red, green, red, green, red, green

You, me, me, you. Today we both turned red.

I brace myself to lift her down from her predicament. Praying we do not topple. And I did actually pray.

Is this what it feels like to be rescued from a fairground ride? Stranded in mid-air whilst all around go about their business down below, busy on adventures of their own. A whole community, just down there. Out of reach.

We are high up. Hoping for help, though it does not come. Praying. Feeling very small, very alone. At least one of us is. The other not so. She has always loved fairgrounds. The lights, the colour, the spectacle, the drama. She is laughing right now. Unconcerned. All the fun of the fair is in her eyes as it always is. This is what blessing looks like.

Oh I too love the funfair, don’t get me wrong. It’s true I’m not all that keen on the Helter Skelter or those swingy things that send you hurtling through the skies at breakneck speed. And the Dodgems – well they are just plain dangerous if you ask me. But find me the Hook a Duck stand to try my luck with, or a colourful Carousel with painted horses and I’ll happily hop on and go round all day.

A fairground is a place where screams are many yet, no one hears them. They are not required to. Laughter, joy, screaming, fear, exhilaration, merge into one, giant, merry-go-round. Pleasure and pain. Pain and pleasure. Pleading to get off then getting back on for more. Fearful moments soon overcome by joyous ones, then replaced by fear….and so it goes on.

We are downstairs again, yet we need to be upstairs. She needs to sleep so we cannot stay here. Now there’s another obstacle in our way. It’s the same but different. Still alarming, still flashing and now IN OUR WAY. Reminding us of the journey we now face. A perilous one. An uphill struggle; each of my steps must now be carefully and very slowly taken for fear of us both tumbling down the stairs. The chair is not moving, no matter how hard I plead with it to work. Please just work. I scream a scream that no one hears. Not even her, thankfully. Only one of us feels the fear on this particular ride. The other knows only love and trust. This is what blessing looks like.

One day I will laugh at this too, just not today.

One day the plan will come together. A crowd will gather around us. Tradesmen and women will set to work to help her; and to help me. The stairlift will no longer be required to transport her to sleep each night. She will sleep downstairs, safe and sound in a new environment that can truly meet her needs. One with new rides to experience, buttons to press, levers to pull, hoists to take her into orbit. We will laugh with great gusto at ourselves in front of distorted fairground mirrors, knowing that our true self remains intact. Dignity will be restored. Hers and mine. This is also what blessing looks like.

Just not today.

Tonight we will dream of carousels and candy floss and all that this fairground means to us; we are certain we do not ever wish to leave.


8 Comments

By rights

Girl drawing in sand

By rights my child should be talking by now. She’s 8 years old you see.

By rights she should be running around; climbing, jumping, falling and scraping her knee.

By rights these are skills that are just delayed.

She’ll get there in her own time, don’t fret.

Her extra chromosome is championed by those of us in the know.  Though I think even we get it wrong by the examples we hold up for inspiration:

Actors, dancers, TV stars, athletes, some are even politicians. Look how much these people with their extra chromosome are contributing!

As if they need a reason to be here.

Nothing to fear they tell me; she’ll make her own way in this world like them.

By rights.

By rights my child shouldn’t even be here. Such is the overwhelming view of the world to people like her.

By rights I could have deleted her life. I should have done so, according to some and by rights for which others have fought.

My choice? My right not to do that?

Of course! But you’re on your own.

Stop. Let’s go back to the beginning, where it all seems to go so wrong.

So very wrong and not at all about rights.

 

My child’s very existence is a cry to be loved.

She is not to be measured on a scale.

Scales of achievement that judge her, proclaiming her worth in how much she can bring to the table.

By rights she may never measure up to societal scrutiny, or even that of her own community. Who knows when or if she will talk or run?

Truthfully, she is not here by rights – for society says she has none.

She is here by love.

It is love she is attracted to. Not achieving or being the best. She has no desire to acquire more knowledge or power or fame, or the rest.

She has a desire, a need to be loved. Let’s face it, don’t we all?

She is not here by rights, she is here as a gift.

A priceless gift of discovering that to love is not always easy, but is of greater value than anything else.

 

Tell me…. what gift was ever a right?

 

“Every child, every person needs to know that they are a source of joy; every child, every person, needs to be celebrated. Only when all of our weaknesses are accepted as part of our humanity can our negative, broken self-images be transformed.”
 Jean VanierBecoming Human