Mazel Tov!
The words which generally paraphrase so much happiness
lingered in the air, leaving a sour taste in Ruchama's mouth.
"No, it can't be!" was her only reply, as again and again,
she shook her head in disbelief. She lay listless in her
hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, envisioning her
homecoming, imagining her future daily routine. And then,
once again, she burst into unontrollable sobs. As the salty
tears coursed down her young face, she did not bother to wipe
them away, hoping that they would evaporate. Instead, they
soaked her pillow, seeping through the cover as the
unbelievable registered into her consciousness. She would
have to turn the page of her past -- rather, slam it shut --
and open a new book with a different title.
Ruchoma, a mother of four healthy sweet children ranging in
age from six down to two, had had her baby snatched away from
her immediately at birth. She barraged the doctor with
questions, hoping to hear words of comfort. But this was not
the case.
"Giveret," she was told, "your child has Down's
Syndrome."
Simply put: Your child will never be normal.
Ruchoma turned to the wall and remained stone still while a
million thoughts and questions raced through her mind. They
remained within her, encased in an impenetrable armor,
preventing her from formulating her thoughts and expressing
them. These moments stretched into hours and then into
several days.
She was released from the maternity ward and with her child
in her arms, she headed for the exit. Her hands trembled as
she held him, her package, her gift. For the first time, she
felt incapable of handling the fragile bundle. She averted
her gaze from his small round face. Thus she was thrust into
real life.
Before going home, she spent another few days resting at a
maternity convalescent home where she stayed in a private
room, not joining the other postpartum mothers. Ruchoma did
not feel the need to share experiences with others and so,
she spent her time with her siddur and Hashem, asking,
praying for help.
No prayer goes unanswered. The doctor's verdict remained, but
she changed.
Often, she would look out the window at the birds, seemingly
free from worries as they swiftly fly high, high above the
ground, whereas she must remain rooted firmly within her fate
and cope to the best of her ability. When a silver plane
would dot the sky, she would imagine herself purchasing a
ticket and traveling to far-off Switzerland to view the
splendid and picturesque views. But she'd be shocked back to
reality, realizing that to her dismay, she had arrived in
`Amsterdam' instead. `An Amsterdam tourist site,' but not her
destination.
Ruchama had dreamed of holding, raising her child according
to the regular itinerary. Yet great are His ways and there
had been a detour. She must be strong for her family, even
though she had landed far from her original destination. She
would have to learn to believe that this was the ultimate
goal. Her Travel Agent had given her a valid ticket and she'd
have to get her bearings and readjust her inner compass.
The first two months Ruchama spent feeding and diapering her
baby, her child. There were many rewarding moments of
cuddling the small infant. Slowly, the joys of mothering the
child nurtured within her a strong maternal feeling as she
became determined to consider this baby as one of her other
children, despite the labels pinned on to him.
Pini remained a unique entity and thus, she shopped at the
most exclusive stores for the nicest clothing she could find
to enhance his appearance.
As she watched Pini grow, she realized she was growing along
with him. He learned to do things at his own pace. Yet every
step was a major accomplishment, as much time and effort was
spent to help him overcome all obstacles, and every
accomplishment, a step forward.
The time came for his beautiful brown curls to be
photographed. Ruchama was ever so proud of the portraits as
she showed them off. She did not seem to register the
wondering expressions of those who looked at her as she
excitedly displayed the pictures to anyone in sight.
It was an exciting affair, as the whole extended family
joined at the celebration of Pini's birthday. They traveled
to Meiron and at R' Shimon's grave his shiny brown locks were
shorn. A blue velvet kipa was placed on his head. He
clapped his hands in glee and looked at his mother and then,
at his grandmother's face. Pini reached out to touch his
mother's face and wipe away her tears. He could not
understand why, on such a special occasion, there was need
for tears.
His vocabulary did not include expressions for emotions but
his eyes said it all and he, too, burst into tears. Ruchama
controlled herself and stroked him to calm him down. Moments
later, Pini removed his thumb from his mouth and looked
around, checking the faces of those around him. Upon seeing
everyone's head deeply buried in their siddurim, he
hobbled over to his stroller and curled up in it, waiting for
further developments.
*
With time, following considerable therapy of many kinds, Pini
continued to develop and learned to walk all by himself. This
was a great achievement, and greatly appreciated by his
sisters who would laboriously lug the strapping toddler home
from therapy sessions and up the stairs. Yet, unbelievably,
they did so willingly, knowing that they were helping him to
progress. Pini had become the star in the family and all
family events centered around his smiling, joyous
personality.
Pini continued to grow and began to attend special pre-
school classes. Early each morning when the white van honked,
his father would carry him down the steps to avoid delays and
gently buckle him into his seat. Pini sent happy smiles in
all directions.
Life was good; he enjoyed his warm atmosphere and things
could not be any better. He put a smile on everyone's face as
he laughed in sheer delight.
So this was Pini. A blessing in disguise, but a blessing of
happiness, nonetheless. A son who was like a little sun.
