Why Does the Thought Exist?

“Did you hear about the new baby the Murphys had?”

“No. Is there a problem?”

“Yes. The child is retarded. What kind of life will she have?”

Two people take seats at a table in a restaurant. As they look to the occupants at the table to their right, one whispers to the other, “Let’s move. I don’t want to sit by a kid who can’t keep his tongue in his mouth.”

As a couple who have been looking at a house they are interested in buying are leaving they notice a man across the street pushing a young man in a wheelchair. The occupant of the wheelchair is holding his head to the side and has a seat belt to secure him in the chair. The couple look at each other, shake their heads, and one says, “I feel sorry for that family. What a burden they have to bear.”

Overheard in a line of people waiting to buy tickets to see a move, “I feel sorry for handicapped people. They will never have a life like normal folks.”

Why does the thought exist that a person who is “handicapped” or developmentally disabled cannot have a good life?

In an interview with a psychologist, I was asked what was my and my husband’s goal for our daughter. I told him, “To make her as independent as she can possibly be.” He then asked if her brothers and sister wouldn’t be willing to take care of her. I replied I knew they would, but wasn’t she entitled to her own life they same as they were? Why should she not have the chance to live in her own home and have a job? Albeit, she would always need help, especially in the area of finances. But I also knew that given love, encouragement, support, concern, and compassion, she could have a good life.

To this end, she learned the basics including how to clean, do laundry, cook simple meals, do dishes, select appropriate clothing, good manners. She was in 4-H and had livestock projects. She attended school in Nashua and was in Sunday school. When it came to preparing for the holidays, she enjoyed helping to decorate.

When we celebrated her birthday, she would always say “Next year I be (whatever her next age would be).” Opening a present, no matter the occasion, she would giggle and say, “Hey! Hey! Hey!”

Granted, she could cause frustration at times, but so could her brothers and sisters. We soon learned to have to try and be one step ahead of her because she could figure out some pretty unique ways to get around the rules.

She definitely has her likes and dislikes. Anything that is Dukes of Hazard is number one on her good list. On a return trip from Iowa, we stopped in Murdo, S.D., at the car museum. Her excitement and joy at seeing a replica of the General Lee and standing beside life-sized cardboard statues of Bo, Luke, and Daisy and having her picture taken was a huge hit. She still talks about that trip.

Today, she lives in a semi-independent apartment complex and works at an activity center. She is proud of the salary she earns. And whenever she joins our family for birthdays, or holidays, or just because, her first question is: “When you take me back to my apartment?” Doesn’t sound to me like she’s unhappy with her life or feel like she’s not accomplished anything.

Shortly before Christmas, she and our sons and their families came to supper at our house. She wanted to help me with the soup I was making. So I told her she could stir it while I was adding the last ingredients. She turned to me and said, “Know what, Mom?” “No. What?” “I love you.” “I love you, too.”

Just a scant few moments later, she again asked, “Know what, Mom? “No. What?” “I keep you.” “Thanks. I think I’ll keep you, too.”

And after a hug and a big grin, she returned to stirring the soup.