Cherished is the Word

I have always wanted to visit L’Arche, Jean Vanier’s communities for the developmentally disabled. There is one in Cicero, not far from Chicago. A friend of mine worked there, off and on, before joining Jesus People. She was our babysitter for a time, all no nonsense and calm and practical. Sometimes I thought Carolyn was babysitting me, her nineteen years to my thirty something, coaching me as I nursed Eden and potty-trained Jude. My favorite Carolyn advice, "You can say no to him, you know."

It was an unfamiliar concept at the time.

Last week, late in the summer afternoon we all head out to the yard, the boys and Gramma and Don and myself. People are grilling and tables were set up in the garden. It looks like Carolyn is having some friends over. I sit on the bench and Jude heads over to lie on the cement and watch the water in the big drain on the basketball court.

I have my shuffle on, listening to Aretha but on low so I can hear any sounds of disagreement or distress, from or caused by my kids.

A shadow makes me look up. A nicely dressed young man, clean shaven and smelling of cologne, holds out his hand. “I’m Chris. Nice to meet you. Do you like the Price is Right? They have a big wheel, it lights up and it goes in a circle. It’s very tall, and I like things that are big and light up.”

“Hi, Chris,” I say, somewhat taken aback, instantly recognizing the tempo of his speech and his mannerisms. I look over his shoulder. Carolyn is watching us and smiling. Oh. L’Arche is here.

Chris wants to know if our building has a sprinkler system, and how do I feel about Crown Victorias; don’t I think they were the best cars ever made?

He chats with me awhile, and then starts telling my mother about Schaumburg, where his parents lived. I cannot take my eyes off him. I glance over at Jude, flapping and muttering, and back to Chris, and then back at Jude. Oh my God. I was seeing my son’s future, his Doppelganger.
Wow.

“Isn’t he great?” Carolyn says. “I wanted you to meet him. His parents are awesome, they just adore him.”

And I can see that, because Chris radiates it, that sense of self, when you meet someone you know has been cherished, has been raised well. My son has that intangible quality, as well, that brightness that says, I am the apple of someone’s eye. Someone dreams for me and hopes and believes in me.

That is what I know, when I look at Chris. He is defined, not by his neurological differences, but by the simple fact that he has been fortunate enough to be adored.

Jude comes over and points out a pigeon. I gather him up in my arms and whisper, we are so lucky, you know that? “Lucky,” Jude repeats.

Carolyn asks me if I would like to meet Chris’s parents someday.

“Yeah,” I say, still watching him. “And when you see them next? Tell them thanks.”

Carolyn smiles. “No problem.” And she heads over to sit with her friends.
“Thanks mama,” Jude says, and gives a little flap.

I look up and Chris is smiling and talking at the table.
“No problem,” I tell Jude. ‘No problem at all.”