One of the ways I put myself in clothes and makeup and books in high school was babysitting. And there was a little boy down the street whose family paid more because the boy was still in diapers and unable to speak. I was with him a few times a week for three years. In that time I never learned his last name, nor how old he was but he was about 8 when I was informed not to come any more. I think he died, but the family moved away immediately after and I never found out. I only heard from gossip that the mother was forty when she married her sister’s widower and was punished with a mongoloid child.
And I loved him.
So today was very meaningful for me. We were privileged to visit the center for challenged children.
The Downs’ boy
His was my first unconditional embrace.
I’d walk in the house and his entire moon face
would open in a new awakening.
“Jeffrey! Jeffrey!” I would call,
and bend to where he sat up
from his crawl and opened his arms
to me. His frazzled, aged mother
came into the room as well,
wiping her hands on a dishtowel
to admire the warmth of his welcome.
“Jeffrey, Jeffrey!” I buried my face
In his soft white shoulder and listened
As he burbled his version of words.
There was no funeral.
When one day I wasn’t called
to care for him, I put my mind back
into my studies, unaware
the parents were ashamed
to acknowledge his life
and the relief of his loss.
I didn’t even pass his house
or call the parents I barely knew,
But I still whisper to him,
in our sweet secret way
that in some world,
we will always embrace.
I kept thinking how much longer and happier Jeffrey’s life would have been in such a wonderful place, how the children in Shalva have a wonderful pool and learn to become great swimmers with their moms in one of two magnificent pools, have learned to perform as singers, have learned to take care of themselves, to form relationships, to hold jobs.
The sense of joy and accomplishment was so palpable I urge you to take a look at: shalva.org.il.
