Vision is the art of seeing things invisible. (Jonathan Swift)
As I’m sorting the mountain of items on top of my dresser I find an old earring in a box of don’t-throw-out-yet-stuff—the mate was cracked and discarded in another decade. The relationship with the gentleman who gave it to me shattered long before the jewelry did. In another century. Admittedly I did not appreciate the gift at the time. It probably cost my fiancé more than I realized. But I needed to experience a profound personal loss to realize that the only reason I continued the relationship with this young man was because I didn’t think anyone else would ever take an interest in me. The two of us had nothing in common.
Now, as I discard that earring in the trash I forgive us for our ignorance. He had no idea how lost I felt at the time, and I had no way to explain the inside of a vacuum. My vision has changed; I suspect his has, too. He married someone else and so did I.
Now, many dark, bright, and muted-colored years later, my husband of 43 years plays Christmas music on our CD player while I clean. I recall Simon and Garfunkel’s Silent Night/7O’clock News from their “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme” album of 1966. It appeared during my own difficult time. Crime reports and promises of continued war played in the background of gentle sound, a bizarre kind of counterpoint. In some ways not much has changed. The challenge of peace remains immense, even on a personal level.
Sure I like days where the sun shines with amiable warmth and I have enough time to do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it. I doubt that these are the moments where I grow most, however. Chances are if my life had been cushioned in silk and affluence in a the-world-centers-around-me existence I wouldn’t appreciate innate beauty.
I wouldn’t smile all the way from my lips through my heart and into my gut every time Katie J. posts a new entry in her blog for Elysium. Kyle, like my Ella, has Down syndrome. Katie tells about the joys of her young son’s life, but she does not minimize the challenges. I appreciate her honesty, as well as the information she shares about Trisomy 21, what it affects and what it doesn’t. Both Kyle and Ella have a deep capacity for love without strings attached.
These are kids, scoffers may say. You can’t predict a life based on early cuteness. Yet, I have met adults with Down syndrome who have not lost the gift of innocent goodness. And it is a gift.
I think about that silly box on my dresser with mismatched, lost or broken pieces. This is probably the time to get rid of those useless attachments and become more like Ella and Kyle. Things will never make me happy. People-who-care can; they have. Knowing people who don’t have an agenda make discarding the past even easier.
terrypetersen 