Since the Eastern Idaho State Fair just wrapped up, I've been remembering several moments from when I had a booth at the fair in 2019. I thought my job would be pretty straightforward: I'd meet new people at the fair, talk about the newspaper I worked for, and try to get new subscribers. But at one point, something surprising happened.
The man stared at me from across the way as I sat peddling newspapers, but instead of coming over, like many other people did, he simply paced back and forth, watching.
At one point, I must have looked thoughtfully at him because he returned the action. Sometimes I wonder if people with Down syndrome are like that: honest and unassuming.
As the day continued, he kept glancing over, and I really wondered what he was thinking. The man must have been in his early twenties, inquisitive, and determined. I'm still unsure why, but I started wondering about things like Down syndrome and how life is so unfair. Why did this man face such hardships when other people don't even appreciate their good fortune? I'd just read an article in the newspaper about how suicide rates are rising. Why can't everyone be happy and healthy? Mentally and physically okay too?
Of course, the more I pondered this, my thoughts suddenly turned to my son who died. He’d had birth defects, and the doctors dubbed him "mentally handicapped." They kept saying, "If he even grows into adulthood, he won't have a quality of life."
A part of me wondered if they’d been right. Although he died as a baby, it was hard to stop imagining what he really would have been like as an adult. After all, I'd been shocked by how much doctors hadn't known.... And it made me doubt everything.
During the pregnancy, my main OBGYN thought my son would have Down syndrome, and when that proved wrong, they said he must have trisomy. They performed all sorts of tests before he was born AND after, but they never discovered a reason for the combination of birth defects he had: a cleft lip and palate, a diaphragmatic hernia, an extra half a pinky... This mix baffled all of us, but (as doctors said) it's a miracle any of us are born healthy at all.
If my boy had grown into adulthood, would he have been gentle and inquisitive like this young man who studied me at the fair? Would his eyes have held such kindness too?
I’m normally so happy, but I suddenly descended into sadness about the unfairness of life. And as I sat there, I could've cried surrounded by newspapers that boasted births and deaths; scholarships and petty thefts; traffic accidents, suicide rates, murders and other serious crimes...
I wished for a second that I could feel the arms of G-d wrap around me to remind me that everything will be okay. In that moment, I whispered all of these things to G-d. It seemed like when my son died, he left a hole that'd never be filled--not unless G-d decided to take the pain away.
Suddenly, when I’d descended into the very worst of this feeling, the man with Down syndrome gracefully zig-zagged toward me.
“I like you,” he said. “I just do.”
“Well... Thank you.” I blinked, and then brightened, for his sake. "And, I like you!”
“Hug?” He looked down and kicked a rock by his shoe.
“Ummm. Sure.” So I held out my arms extremely wide, and he placed his head softly on my shoulder as I hugged him. I swear that somehow it felt like the presence of G-d surrounded both of us, wrapping us in this beautiful, strong warmth.
The man turned, then lightly kissed my shoulder before darting away. "I love you, k!” he yelled from a short distance.
Tears filled my eyes, not because I felt sad, but because I’d witnessed something amazing.
“Thank you for that,” his caregiver quickly said, still keeping an eye on the young man.
“He’s pretty special isn’t he?” I said, and as his caregiver nodded, I felt like I'd just met an angel.
*Note: I'm in the process of converting to Judaism. "G-d" is spelled with a dash here out of respect. It's actually such a beautiful tradition if you have the time (or inclination) to look it up.
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