My Christmas story...David
I worked at a children’s mental institution....maybe around 2001. David had Down’s syndrome. If you ever knew what got him up into that facility...it was horrific and unthinkable? Even with the movies and tv...you can imagine it. I was an untrained group home councilor. I had spent some time being unemployed. My last job I was being a long haul truck driver...what did I know about taking care of the most severely disabled children in New England. I couldn’t get up there unless I had a poor work history. I was sent up there to save David. My friends put me in the worst group home in the facility...they targeted me for this house.
I utterly failed.
I remembered seeing David for the first time. I wasn’t ever exposed to many disabled children like this. He frightened me. His nose and mouth was always leaking. He had a huge tongue......he could hardly keep it in his mouth. I remember that flash of disgust and fight, when I was with David, and new people had seen him for this first time. We took him out to the community often. I worked with him for a little over a year. I fell in love with him...well, a much as you could for a counselor at a mental institution. He didn’t know how to talk and sign. He could laugh really well.
I arrive at the group home, early one Saturday morning at 7am...I am getting ready to put in 12 hours of work. About an hour later, I go into David’s room to wake him up.
I walk through a drab, bleak and colorless living room....all the furniture and rugs are extremely old on the way to his room You can tell when you are in a institution with the rooms being ail gray and drab...they are all of the same. After the living room, there is a long hall in front of me...there are three doors on each side. David’s door is the last door on the left. We put him there because he can be rambunctious at times.
I enter his room. His room has grey or light blues colorless walls...there are stains on his walls. It’s got one bed on the far end, one dresser...and absolutely nothing else in the room....well, a closet. He got no pictures on the wall. It is not like my colorful son’s room. David is still sleeping. I open up his window curtains...it’s a beautiful NH winter day and the sky is so blue outside. I call his name nicely.....”David, David”. He stirs awake. He sits up in his bed...he grunts a kind of “hi how are you”. I say “good morning David...how are you”? “It’s a beautiful day outside.”
David and I generally have a blast getting dressed. I would hand him his pants after I get them from the dresser...he was suppose to put them on by himself. He then would fling the pants over my head. He’d do the same with his shirt and socks. He got such a kick out of defying me. He’s run around me laughing...I would say “David”...and he would get me laughing. I might have to chase him and his pants a few times depending on how he felt. He would eventually dress himself. I really enjoyed playing with David.
You never could laugh quietly with David...it was impossible...it was always full and hearty laughing with both of us. Laughing in a bleak mental institution is such a unique and powerful experience. You are laughing at the suffering and death all around you....parentless children mostly. You are laughing at the private, state and federal bureaucracy who set this up. Indeed you are laughing at the indifferent good people of the USA.
So David gave a series of grunts as he was waking up. He recognized who I was and smiled at me. He didn’t jump out of the bed with me gleefully chasing him around the room. I quickly recognized that something was up with him. I sat down on floor trying to signal to him that we could be still for awhile...trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Is he sick...how do you figure out if a child is sick, who can’t talk to you? He is so quiet and pensive. I am not worried about him being sick I feel yet.
I catch his eyes looking at my face, he broadly smiles at me. His head quickly turns away as we make eye contact. It’s a strange smile...it’s a focused smile. This is not like him. He looks at my face again; he has a big wide smile, a quiet smile....not a rambunctious laugh. We have eye contact for a moment, then he turns his head down. I watch his head return to my eyes. He’s got a big wide grin on, holds it for a few seconds...then his face gets serious. His head turns down to his chest. He looks me in my eyes again. He got a painted-on smile on; it is still big and wide then his lips flash into being serious. His head returns to his chest. He does the whole thing again, with a little less of a smile, and his lips are beginning to turn down.
I am confused ...I don’t know what is going on. Then I see his watering eyes and a tear is running down his cheek. The smile completely disappears...but he keeps turning his head to me, then away. He is quietly crying in front of me, returns into his chest, then looks me in the eyes with many tears. Many tears, quietly sobbing... over and over again. I have no idea what is going on...I’ve never seen this.
You have to steel yourself working in a children’s’ institution as this. There are a few laughs, many temper tantrums and outburst...lots of angry children at times....and you call the nurses often. I save my crying for my car when I am driving home. It was such an extraordinary difficult experience...nothing can prepare for it. There was all kinds of children with many different disabilities...and some children were sent there to die. It was a facility for the severely sick and disabled children.
But David is crying in front of me this morning. It’s dawning on me that he is tenderly crying to me...I don’t know what’s wrong with him. How can I fix this I think...Is he sick enough to call the nurse? Then I start tearing and burst out crying, right out of nowhere. It’s way beyond me control...”what is wrong with him”? “How can I fix it?” I have no way with knowing what’s wrong with him. I tearing and crying a lot now...I continue thinking, “what’s wrong with him”. How am I going find out what wrong with him. It dawns on me, that I am not going to find out what’s wrong with him. I cry and sob with him a lot more. I am at a lost with what to do. I am thinking about this horrendous system in front of us and we all are so powerless. It’s a moments like this that time stands still.
I collect myself together a little. I call the nurse into the house, I tell her with unhinged red eyes, David is crying and I don’t know what is wrong with him. Oh, she says, are you OK? She finds nothing wrong with him.
About two weeks later, in the morning, we find David dead in his bed. He died from a blood clot in his heart.
I still don’t know why David was crying...nobody knows why he was crying. It’s not like him.
Please help me figure this out...Do you know why David was crying?
This occurred in and around 2001. Everyone wants to forget about this kid. He is long forgotten....nobody remembers him.
