My grandparents had two boys in the late 1940's. Each lived for just a few days before spina bifada and a heart defect defeated them. I'm not sure how many miscarriages they had, but I know there were a few. They decided to adopt. When they received their brand new baby boy, they were overjoyed. But within days they knew something wasn't quite right with their boy.
He was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.
LSS offered to take him back - they'd obviously made a mistake, why would they still want this baby?
My grandparents said he was their son. No, they couldn't have him because he. was. their. child.
For the next 47 years, grandpa drove the station wagon and grandma held Stuart in the front seat. Grandpa handmade each of his wheelchairs because decent, cushioned chairs didn't exist. We quietly knew why they saved all their brown plastic vitamin jars, putting them in the car and grandmas purses and underneath his chair - grandma changed him for his entire life. They moved from their family farms in rural Minnesota to downtown Minneapolis to send Stu to a school where he could interact with other kids, get an education, and eventually a job.
He loved spaghetti, girls in bikinis, trains, Tahitian Treat soda, rare coins and swords, and his family. He guffawed with laughter, and loved playing bingo with us, and came to our performances, and we celebrated his birthdays with chocolate cake.
To us, he was never different. We'd snuggled with him in his chair since birth - he was just Uncle Stuart. The different ones were the ones who stared. laughed. pointed. asked pointed questions. They were the not normal ones, the different ones, the ones with handicapped hearts.
Uncle Stuart was the reason my first declared major was special education. The reason I was a teachers aide in a special ed classroom for three summers. The reason I could change diapers on a 17 year old without batting an eyelash. The reason my favorite week of camp was Celebration week, open to all ages with any disability.
Oh the stories I have! Brittany, who gave me a concussion because she was so scared to take her pills and then sobbed in my arms when she had to leave camp. Jonathon, who became a dinosaur when he was uncomfortable and drew a picture of me as his bride. Madeline, who pulled her hair out in clumps and raised her hands in worship. Chris, who yelled and memorized maps. The ones whose names escape me - grinning, laughing, flirting, enjoying their food, singing loudly, living fully.
So many stories where these 'handicapped', 'disabled', 'different' people glowed mercy and joy and kindness and goodness and love - so much love. Always love. Each one pointing to and reflecting God. Thanks, grandma and grandpa, for being so full of awesome and being so ahead of your time in acceptance and love.
He was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.
LSS offered to take him back - they'd obviously made a mistake, why would they still want this baby?
My grandparents said he was their son. No, they couldn't have him because he. was. their. child.
For the next 47 years, grandpa drove the station wagon and grandma held Stuart in the front seat. Grandpa handmade each of his wheelchairs because decent, cushioned chairs didn't exist. We quietly knew why they saved all their brown plastic vitamin jars, putting them in the car and grandmas purses and underneath his chair - grandma changed him for his entire life. They moved from their family farms in rural Minnesota to downtown Minneapolis to send Stu to a school where he could interact with other kids, get an education, and eventually a job.
He loved spaghetti, girls in bikinis, trains, Tahitian Treat soda, rare coins and swords, and his family. He guffawed with laughter, and loved playing bingo with us, and came to our performances, and we celebrated his birthdays with chocolate cake.
To us, he was never different. We'd snuggled with him in his chair since birth - he was just Uncle Stuart. The different ones were the ones who stared. laughed. pointed. asked pointed questions. They were the not normal ones, the different ones, the ones with handicapped hearts.
Uncle Stuart was the reason my first declared major was special education. The reason I was a teachers aide in a special ed classroom for three summers. The reason I could change diapers on a 17 year old without batting an eyelash. The reason my favorite week of camp was Celebration week, open to all ages with any disability.
Oh the stories I have! Brittany, who gave me a concussion because she was so scared to take her pills and then sobbed in my arms when she had to leave camp. Jonathon, who became a dinosaur when he was uncomfortable and drew a picture of me as his bride. Madeline, who pulled her hair out in clumps and raised her hands in worship. Chris, who yelled and memorized maps. The ones whose names escape me - grinning, laughing, flirting, enjoying their food, singing loudly, living fully.
So many stories where these 'handicapped', 'disabled', 'different' people glowed mercy and joy and kindness and goodness and love - so much love. Always love. Each one pointing to and reflecting God. Thanks, grandma and grandpa, for being so full of awesome and being so ahead of your time in acceptance and love.
This post was inspired by the book Expecting Adam, by Martha Beck. I received a free copy of the book for review purposes as a member of the From Left to Write book club. Hop over and read the other inspired posts here. -anna
{girlwithblog}
Such an awesome, tender, and sweet post! You have such a kind, gentle heart...I hear it in the words that you write.
ReplyDeleteYou've blessed my heart. Thank you for sharing this.
Your grandparents were wonderful people and you can tell that you inherited their kindness and love. How proud they must have been of you! Great post!
ReplyDelete