Tribute To Irene

I was surprised to read Irene’s obituary last week. Irene was 66 years old.

Irene and I were born the same week in the same hospital. Our mothers were roommates, and as a result, a lifelong friendship developed between our families. As a very young child, I remember playing with Irene. The picture above is Irene and I on the lawn of my childhood home. Later on, at the time Irene was 3 or 4 years old, she was placed in an institution for the physically and mentally handicapped. That was what was done with profoundly handicapped people back then. I never saw Irene again.

Over the years, I occasionally thought about this girl who was my own age and I wondered what had become of her. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding that none of us would talk about Irene. I became good friends with her mother, and as an artist, Irene’s mother encouraged me for years in my own artwork. I wonder, now, if my presence in her life reminded her of Irene and made her sad for her own daughter.

A few years ago, someone is the state system of the Office of Retardation, upon hearing what town I lived in, asked me if I knew an Irene who was originally from my town. Yes, it was the Irene I knew. I found out that Irene was in a wheelchair and dependent upon others for all of her care. I was told that she had beautiful snow-white hair. Just like her mom, I thought to myself. I put it on my “to-do” list to travel to see Irene even though I knew she wouldn’t know who I was. Somehow, I always felt a kinship to this early playmate of mine. But, I never got around to traveling to see Irene. Now, it’s too late!

Society changes and its way of dealing with its handicapped citizens has changed. Institutionalizing those with disabilities is no longer the primary recommendation that medical and educational experts advise.

It was 30 years after Irene and I were born, that my third child developed a serious seizure disorder with its resulting retardation. No one suggested that my son be institutionalized. There were government and educational services available to help him remain at home and be a part of his family. How thankful I am for that, because this son is a special blessing to our family. The picture above shows my son as a youngster in his snowmobile helmet with full-face guard that permitted him to play without being injured from his dozens of sudden falls each day. Over the years, the seizures lessened, and he no longer had to wear a helmet. During that time, he had wonderful special education teachers in school and excellent neurologists to monitor his medications. Now, as an adult, he lives in a group home, works at a sheltered workshop, and he has friends and activities he likes to do.

What can be said about the value of a person who had such a limited life experience as Irene or about my son who will need daily help and supervision for the rest of his life? Jesus spoke about these handicapping conditions in a conversation with his disciples. Listen to this episode from the Bible: “As Jesus passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ Jesus answered, ‘It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.’” (John 9:1-3)

I don’t understand how it all works, but Jesus affirms that in some manner, individuals afflicted with severe handicaps are a necessary part of God’s way to display His works in this world. God’s sovereignty to create each human person, as He deems best, and His sovereignty to dispense to them abilities or withhold abilities is God’s right. He is the Potter; we are the clay.

I believe with all my heart that Irene was one of God’s special creations, made above all to display the handiwork of God in some mysterious and magnificent manner. Human eyes would look at her, pity her, and question her worth. But according to the Word of God, in some manner the works of God were displayed in her. What greater worth can anyone have than that?

Irene, this is my tribute to you.