The Place Where Prayers Are Born
Mommy, Mommy, look! a train!
Mommy, oh, Mommy, a truck, over there!
Oh, Mommy, LOOK!
These were the sounds of my life when my son, my first child, was a toddler. I heard a running commentary on the trucks, trains, cars, and planes that came past us every wakeful moment. And then, one day, it stopped. My son was almost four years old. One day, then two days of silence, by the third day I was worried. He did not seem ill, just quiet, too quiet.
I spoke up, "you always told me when to look for the train and the train tracks. You were always letting me know about the trucks on the road and the airplanes in the sky. Now, you say nothing. Are you okay?"
"Oh, Mommy," he said with his eyes opening big and wide, "I found this amazing place. In order to hear everything, see everything, and experience everything there, I must be very quiet."
"My guy," said I in relief, tremendous relief, "do you know what this place is?" He shook his head. "It is you," I continued, "it is your inner realm, your inner eye, inner ear, inner heart. This is you. This is where your prayers and dreams are born. You found it!" He smiled. "Now I know why you are so quiet. It's okay. Please learn this place well. It will help you through life." Now we both smiled.
Many years past. My daughter loved to play dolls. In fact, when the day was a challenge for her, she seemed to work things out in her play. We called it 'baby doll wars'. But then she started talking to her hands and to her feet, to her elbows and to her knees. One day I had an oncology appointment. My daughter had to come with me. The nurses were understanding enough about my companion but not everyone in clinic appreciated a girl with Down Syndrome. It was one of those rambunctious days. I was agitated and so was she, so much so, that she was kicking the wall. "Stop that," I demanded. She kicked the wall again. "The other patients don't appreciate your noise. You will stop kicking the wall or you will lose your dolls." She punched the wall this time. "That's it! Gone!"
"No, no, no, Mommy... it wasn't me," she cried, " it was my hand."
"If you want to save your dolls then you will stop talking and stop crying immediately and you will keep your hands and your feet to yourself. You will NOT disturb the other patients anymore." She folded herself into a ball, a quiet ball.
Soon my nurse and I heard a tiny voice, soto voce, saying, "I hate Mommy. No, you can't hate Mommy. She is Mommy. But she yells at me. I hate Mommy. Oh no, not Mommy. You must love Mommy. She is Mommy....." On and on this debate continued through my appointment. My nurse could barely contain herself. Her smiles and laughter were escaping through her eyes and her body clothed in her nurse's uniform was shaking with inhibited laughs. Technically this kind of monologue by a person with Down Syndrome is called self-speaking. But I know that my daughter has found her inner realm, her inner eye, inner ear, inner heart and soul. We have tried to explain to her that these are all her. But she insists that it is her hand or her foot. "NO, no, no, it is you!" we say, but she disagrees. How wrong is her understanding... Every thought and confusion is spoken aloud by her hand or foot or elbow. She refuses to accept responsibility for their transgressions. Sometimes it comes to a boiling point.
My son, the big brother, then proclaims, "I do not negotiate with body parts!" And he walks away from his annoying little sister.
How amazing for us that we have this window to her inner realm. Perhaps, one day she will understand that these are the parts of her being. Perhaps... until then, we do not negotiate with body parts.
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