Children with Mental Disabilities Bring Joy, Inspiration

"Me," she sang out whenever the phone rang. Then she'd grab the receiver and drawl "Heeeey" or croon "Ohhhh" into the ear of an unsuspecting caller.

Some people hung up thinking they had the wrong number, while others commented on the sweet noises the "baby" made.

The "baby," though, is now 25 years old and has been mentally disabled since birth, like her younger sister, Megan, who is 23. Somewhere along the way Lindsay quit answering the telephone.

And sometimes, just like the callers, I don't understand either. Why did this happen to us? Did I do something to cause it? When I want to hurt myself those are the questions I ask, questions with no answers.

Sometimes I give in to the mama wail roiling inside that screams and yells that nothing is right with the world. And it's not natural to wish to outlive your children, but doing so would mean I would always be there to take care of them.

But since I have no choice, I fumble along and I can truly say that having disabled children is not the worst thing that could happen. Sometimes you have to laugh.

Lindsay is neat and for her, there's a place for everything even if it's not always the right place. Just about everything ends up in the kitchen sink, along with the dishes. Lights in empty rooms are turned off and no cabinet door remains ajar. No one has to worry about a raised commode lid, because upon spying the offending article, she bangs it down with a vengeance, flushing it for good measure even when there's nothing to flush.

She once put Megan's eyeglasses into a half-eaten bag of Doritos, and unaware of the contents, I put the bag on top of the refrigerator. That night we looked all over the house for Megan's glasses, but didn't find them in their crispy hiding place until somebody got hungry for chips the next day.

Megan is the artist in our outfit, taking after her grandmother. She sits and colors for hours, sometimes in coloring books and sometimes making cards for people out of construction paper. Her artwork looks like just marks on a page to most, but one of the best responses we ever got was from a friend who said "You don't know what kind of masterpiece she sees in her work."

Every once in a while we get a glimpse of something, though, such as the time a chubby baby angel appeared amongst all the lines and scribbles. Yes, I've heard about a million monkeys with typewriters shut into a room producing a Shakespearean play, but throw me a bone here. Sometimes all we need are hopes and dreams.

Sometimes it comes from the girls themselves. When Megan was five I asked what she wanted to be when she grew
up. Without hesitation, she replied "Superman.

Hey, that's what I want to be. Now if somebody could find me some Kryptonite....