LUKY
ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT THINGS IN THE WORLD FOR PARENTS TO ACCEPT IS THAT THEIR CHILD HAS A DISABILITY, EITHER PHYSICALLY OR MENTALLY.
When they are confronted with the knowledge that this child is not like other children, they may find themselves incapable of bearing this unexpected burden.
"Why me?" they ask, caught completely off guard. "What have I ever done to deserve such sorrow? Why should my child be blind or deaf, or paralysed, or mentally disabled?
"I could have borne any other affliction on his behalf, but to think that he will never be able to see (or hear, or move, or understand)! Oh, I can't stand it!"
I've got news for you.
There is no limit to the amount of heartache you can stand if you love your child.
What may prove to be truly intolerable will be the interference of smug outsiders.
"Handicapped? Isn't that caused by the parents being drunk when they conceived it?"
"No, I never heard that. But I heard that a child can be handicapped if its mother tries to have an abortion."
Of course the families on both parents' sides have to add their contribution:
"Nothing like that has ever happened in our family", both sets say. "It must have come from his (her) side."
These and similar views, as unscientific as they are uncharitable, should not be brooded upon.
The child's handicap is no fault of either parent or family.
Neighbours can drive you distracted when your child has a disability.
"He can't sit yet? Good grief, my niece is six weeks younger than him, and she's walking all over the house. I'm sure you're not feeding him properly. Have you tried giving him a tonic?"
You will notice that such neighbourly friends talk like this only when father is away at work, because father, more knowledgeable than his wife, avoids such people.
Parents of disabled children should consult reputable specialists. Give the best care you can give following their guidance.
Keep your child at home with you as long as your maternal intuition tells you that this is good for him.
God gave him to you, not to those who say: "Put the child in a home and forget you ever had him", or "Don't be selfish. Let him go. Think of your other children."
If you follow the first advice you'll very likely end up with attacks of migraine for the rest of your life, because nature has a nasty, subtle way of revenging itself upon those who violate it.
The people who tell you you are being selfish to keep your child should get their priorities straight. It is never selfish to care for your own offspring; on the contrary, it is the right thing to do.
And why deny your other children a chance to love and spoil their disabled brother or sister? Children thrive on helping others.
When you have taught the child all you can, it is time for him to receive the benefits of a special school.
Don't brood on the future. It has a way of taking care of itself.
Live each day as it comes, and leave the rest to God.
Rest assured that the disabled child will receive the fulfilment of his or her disabled faculties after death, and when his parents stand before the Throne of God to be judged, he will act as a powerful mediator on their behalf.
Catherine Nicolette
Well, Mom is speaking from experience here.
My brother Jo sustained early brain injury, and has coped with the challenges brain injury brings.
Having lived through childhood with a disabled brother, I can attest to the advice given by many during this time.
I had my own share of remarks; by age eleven I simply ignored their import [particularly the alcohol slur] and fixed the authors of the remarks with a glacial eye.
Some Comments Were Just Not Worthy Of My Attention, I considered.
Some kids in the street started throwing stones at my little brother and myself as we walked in the street; I remember cradling my arms protectively around him, his eyes rounded with terror.
One of the stones meant for him hit me on the cheek; blood trickled from the gash..
We turned in at our home gate, the words 'Mal, hy's mal, en jy is ook want jy gooi hom nie weg nie'
[Mad, he's mad, and so are you because you don't throw him away] following us.
Many years later when my brother was able to converse and explain, he told me simply that the stones had indeed hit him that day. Not the physical stones, but the stones that cut his heart were the taunts of madness, and the suffering he felt when I was cut.
I had long since forgotten the incident; though he has forgiven, he has never forgotten.
I found it odd that others felt it incumbent upon them to make remarks when the onus of care did not fall on them.
As young children, we siblings certainly helped with the physical and emotional care our disabled brother needed. But it never bothered us.
You see, to us our brother was just that; our brother.
Not a disabled person. Not a boy with a brain injury. Not someone who needed more care than other children his age.
He was our playmate, our brother, our friend. Ours to love and protect. His sorrows were [and are] our sorrows; his happiness, ours.
Looking back at those years, I can see so many things.
God sent us a special blessing when He chose our family for Jo.
Today this tall man - fluent in English and Afrikaans, singing Sotho songs of praise to God in a beautiful baritone - with an immense sense of humour and a very Dutch sense of dignity is my very best friend.
Last year when Jo and I had a long chat, I told him what was in my heart; my guilt that I am so far from home as Mom gets older, as I pursue charitable enterprise and ministry.
Should I return to the place of my birth, and put charity and ministry on the back burner for a while?
Jo's advice was given without hesitation.
'Why?' he asked. 'I look after Mom. God chose me to be with her as she grows older.
Do what He chose for you."
He is always doing thoughtful little services for Mom; making cups of coffee, cleaning the carpets, caring for the dogs, washing the dishes.
As the sister of a disabled brother, I can tell you that his joyous, innocent heart, insightful advice and brotherly love are among the greatest joys of my life.
If you have a disabled brother or sister, don't worry; embrace him or her.
God chose you specially for the honour of being his or her family.
Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette. For use copyright free for any worthy purpose
LUKY
WHY, I SOMETIMES WONDER, ARE THERE SO MANY PEOPLE UNABLE TO RETURN LOVE WHICH IS OFFERED TO THEM IN A HUMBLE SPIRIT?
When I was a teenager, I was a great one for having crushes on young men.
At one stage I was in love with six boys at the same time, and it is funny to remember now that they all looked, behaved and spoke like each other.
I would worship them silently from afar, and have long imaginary conversations with them, in which I was invariably witty and cynical and would have them rolling with laughter in the aisles.
When I happened to come face to face with them, however, my mouth would go dry and my tongue curl up and, try as I might, I could seldom hold their interest.
Lost interest
Yet there were boys who liked me and on whom I had almost that effect - notably ones I never tried to impress - but the funny thing was that as soon as I discovered a boy liked me, I automatically lost my interest in him.
It took me years to discover that this was a sign of immaturity.
On analysis it showed that I had nothing but contempt for myself.
In effect I was thinking: "If he can fancy himself in love with someone as silly as me, he can't have much between the ears."
By spurning, and perhaps even hurting him, I was only revealing my own inadequacy and lack of self-confidence.
If life hadn't dealt me a few blows where they hurt most, I might never have grown out of that state of mind.
Appreciate the attainable
I know adults who have inflicted much pain on others because they never learnt to appreciate the attainable.
These are the girls who try to look thirty when they're twenty, and eighteen when they're forty; who dress like men, yet long to be treated as ladies; who yearn for the mature status of motherhood, but once they've attained this try to be sisters to their children, rather than mothers whom their offspring can respect.
The immaturity of men reveals itself in a different way.
Why is it there are so many men who, having wooed their wives with great intensity and won them, tire of them after a time and neglect them and their children - perhaps at the very time when the springtide of their married life is about to flower into the beauty of summer?
A woman may have lost her figure and the bloom of her skin, but the wedding vows remain valid.
Anyway, if you happen to have a servant or staff member who needs their job desperately, don't treat them with contempt.
If there is a man or woman who loves you to distraction and you find yourself unable to return his or her affection, be gentle and kind, because you'd find yourself feeling surprisingly lost if this affection turned to dislike - and love is notoriously akin to hatred.
Finally, if you should happen to prefer the glamorous charms of a colleague to the ones your wife lost in service to you and your children, change your job - or reflect on these words of the poet Thomas Moore written, I believe, when his beautiful wife lost her looks in the wake of an attack of smallpox:
It is not while beauty and
youth are thine own
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a
tear
That the fervour and faith of a
heart can be known
To which time shall but make thee
more dear.
No, the heart that has truly loved
never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close
As the sunflower turns on her god
when he sets
That same look which she turned when he rose.
Catherine Nicolette
Faithfulness. Such an easy word to say, such a hard word to live.
I was deeply blessed to have the examples of my parents, aunts and uncles, grandfathers and grandmothers as the norm in my life when I grew up.
The sun rose; the sun set. But one word which was never ever mentioned was 'divorce'.
Thus, I never had any doubts when I set out to school at the beginning of the day whether I would be returning to the same loving family - undivided - at night.
Exchange of views
I got used to the many arguments which somewhat ruffled the serenity of our extended families from time to time.
I also realise that today I always bounce back after an exchange of views with a sunny spirit of reconciliation, not always fully reciprocated.
I put this tendency down to the fact that in our family disagreements were not to be feared
With diverse strong personalities, differing opinions will flourish.
After clearing the air, all got down to the business at hand; my parents, aunts and uncles and grands to growing their marriages, we to flourishing in the secure climate.
The one thing my parents always encouraged, however, was 'Not to let the sun go down on your anger'. [Ephesians' 4;26].
At the end of the day we had to make friends with whatever sibling or friend we had quarrelled with.
Mom always emphasized that if we married one day, the best way to keep a marriage healthy was to talk out problems by the end of every day, and to never carry a grudge.
Sound advice indeed.
Mistakes
As I grow older, I am at times saddened as I see 'one strike and you're out' trends at times occurring. Perfection is being expected in relationships, at work, in traffic and in life.
The true reality is that we all - with the best intentions in the world - make mistakes at times.
And forgiveness can lead to the nurturing of faithfulness in all relationships in life.
Perhaps there is someone with whom you have fallen out with. Why not try to effect a reconciliation?
If the other does not wish to reconcile, well then you have the peaceful mind and heart that you have extended the olive branch.
More than that you cannot do.
LUKY
OUR SINGING TEACHER HAD TWO DOGS; BOTH UNNERVED ME.
They prowled around her front yard slavering, seeking whom they might devour.
To me the height of bad form is to sound one's car hooter outside anyone's house, but when we used to go in for singing lessons, I hooted until she came out.
We eventually telephoned first: "Kindly tie up the Hounds of the Baskervilles, we're on our way."
Our loss
My own dog Snowy, who should have been called Dusky because we didn't wash him enough, was killed some years ago.
We got him and Bully, the mastiff, when first moved to a house in a new neighbourhood.
My husband had hung ferns trailing from the eaves which looked terribly pretty.
He had brought one of them in the morning, and that afternoon the fern was gone: someone had simply unhooked it.
So we got the dogs.
We bought Bully and Snowy two kennels, a big one and a small one, but they remained unoccupied except by Bully's store of food and other treasures.
Even in the heart of winter, Bully, Snowy and our cat slept on the lawn, under a sheltering tree, in one another's paws.
It always gave me such a happy feeling in my heart, as if our Lord had blessed our home with peace.
In the daytime, however, there was nothing peaceful about Bully and Snowy; they roamed the neighbourhood chasing cars and motorbikes.
Although we took to locking them into the courtyard all day, visitors would often leave the gate open.
Out they would rush to pursue some luckless driver.
When we tried to keep them in the garden, they made holes under the fence and got out that way.
We'd patch up the hole with sticks: next morning, another hole would be made.
Person unknown
The end was predictable.
Someone, I don't know who, killed Snowy.
One day he was simply gone, and when my second daughter went out with his food, she couldn't find him.
"Somebody got him," my husband said bleakly, "Heaven knows they had irritation enough; I told you long ago this would happen."
I didn't believe him. "He's just lost. He'll come back."
But he didn't - not alive, that is.
Grisly deed
It was between three and four weeks later, when my second daughter, our dog lover, had just got over her grief, that some jester deposited the remains of Snowy into our front yard.
Though badly decomposed, his coat now looked like a grubby little mat, and there was a look of agony about his bared teeth. It was poignant.
Snowy, though totally disobedient, had not deserved his end at the hands of a ghoul, and only a ghoul could have thought up that final gesture.
Chase was off
Bully and the cat were very nervous.
They circled Snowy's remains, and Bully at least was still heartbroken.
She no longer went out of the courtyard, even if the gate was left open, and she no longer chased cars or motorbikes - which was our one consolation.
We didn't talk about Snowy to each other.
My husband did ask: "What kind of person could have done such a thing", but there are some thoughts you shy away from and none of us answered him.
Yet I suppose the others, like myself, still sometimes wonder how Snowy died - and hope, like me, that his end came swiftly
Catherine Nicolette
Sigh. Snowy. Yes, I remember that affectionate little spirit, so loyal and steadfast, and so small.
A few weeks before a man had passed our gate, and appeared to be approaching the gate handle.
I - unseen by him - was coming home unexpectedly early from work.
He turned towards me as I came up, and looked somewhat threatening.
Snowy flew out from the courtyard, and stood between the man and me, barking bravely at the man.
The man looked at him with utter hatred, and told him 'Ek sal jou kry. Wag net, ek sal jou kry!'
[I'll get you. Just watch, I'll get you].
Mysterious disappearances
I watched as the man went away. There was something about him.
I would not have been surprised to find if he was not the one linked to the mysterious disappearances of hanging baskets and other garden items.
If my memory serves me, the latest was the garden spade.
Snowy looked lovingly at me as he panted patiently, waiting for my pat.
I was worried, and spoke to Dad about it. We kept a good eye on Snowy and the animals for some weeks.
When all was quiet, I stopped worrying. The thefts, too, had stopped.
Soft snores
I continued to go to and from work, stepping one frosty morning over the animals who had slumbered overnight on the top step in front of the Kitchen door.
Large Bully had his paws outstretched. Little Snowy had curled up within his paws, his own paws outstretched.
The little cat was cuddled within Snowy's paws.
On top of the two, Bully's head was resting, keeping them warm as he softly snored.
I grinned as I quietly left them to their sleep.
I had washed Snowy the day before, drying his hair with my hair drier, and combing his coat beautifully. The first thing he had gone and done after his wash was to joyfully wallow in a mud patch left after the garden had been watered.
Gallant protector
The day we found Snowy I will never forget.
The poor little darling was left with his face frozen in agony, thrown at the spot in the front gate where he had so gallantly protected me.
Dad and I buried him. Every bone in Snowy's little body had been broken. Every tooth in his head had been broken too.
He had obviously been subjected to horrendous torture for hours, if not days before death had mercifully took him. Dad and I decided it best not to describe how badly Snowy had suffered, as the family was already so distressed.
Dad and I had noted one thing though. An implement had been left next to Snowy's body which I assumed had been used to torture him.
The missing garden spade ...
I learned a lesson that day. Many animals have bright and loyal spirits, loving to the end.
And I learned that evil exists. I had met him.
Luky
I WONDER how many people still remember the Children of Mary of yore in their blue cloaks and white veils? Perhaps you once belonged to them, as I did.
It is heartening for me to see that Marian Devotion continues in churches; the candle of Our Lady keeps burning in our parishes.
Consolation
People sometimes wonder about the time it takes to recite five decades of the Rosary, but what argument can anyone wind against repeating the consoling words of the litany to Our Lady, which is sheer poetry, as is her office?
What Stations of the cross could be complete without the Stabat Mater?
We always loved singing our Marian hymns, during the months of May and October especially, and the Magnificat, that most glorious shout of joy, came from the young woman who carried our Saviour in her womb.
Today I am wondering how we can continue to rekindle Marian devotion in our parishes.
We can discuss it at meetings, writing about it in parish newsletters, forming Rosary circles, reinstating the family Rosary at home, circulating Marian literature, decorating Our Lady's statue on feast days, and finally by bombarding our priests with requests for the renewed recitation of the Rosary in church.
Plead Her Cause
Your priest is the key to Marian devotion in your parish.
Ask your priest to help you with your efforts to keep Marian devotion alive.
Many priests are honored to preach about the woman who is the Ark of the Covenant, the Sign in Revelation, and the template of humanity Jesus looked up to as He learned to integrate His Divinity with His humanity.
Every true child of Mary should make it her goal in life to further the noble cause of Mary.
Thank you!
It is over three years since I first began blogging Coffeebreak and it's been a privilege to be with you.
Your enthusiastic support has thrilled me no end.
Til the next article, goodbye, thank you for everything and God bless!
Children of Mary
http://www.thechildrenofmary.net/history.asp
Stabat Mater Dolorosa
http://www.preces-latinae.org/thesaurus/BVM/SMDolorosa.html
The Magnificat
http://www.ourcatholicprayers.com/magnificat.html
Stations of the Cross
http://www.catholic.org/prayers/station.php
Pray the Rosary Online
http://www.comepraytherosary.org/
With thanks to the childrenofmary.net, preces-latinae.org, ourcatholicprayers.com, catholic.org and comepraytherosary.org
