Shéri. Shéri Brynard

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      Other people – family, friends and the public – generally paid more attention to Shéri. She was held back a year before school, so the two of us started Sub A at the same time. I remember the woman from the post office gave Shéri a box of crayons to wish her good luck at school. I got nothing. I’d just turned six and it was difficult to understand why she was given a present and I wasn’t.

      My mother also told me how Shéri and I once had to wait in the supermarket trolley while she quickly fetched something from a shelf close by. When she returned, I told her: “Mommy, someone gave Shéri a chocolate. And she didn’t even say thank you.” My frustration was even greater because Shéri hadn’t said thank you!

      Years later, the fact that Shéri had caught so many people’s attention made me feel just a little ashamed. She often had to tag along to different places after school, like orchestra practice on a Friday afternoon. She listened while we practised, ran around outside and spent the free time in between with my friends and me.

      One day I told my mother that I did not think it was such a good idea for Shéri to come to our orchestra sessions. My mom later told me that she’d been waiting for the day when I’d start feeling ashamed of my sister, and that she wouldn’t blame me if it happened. She did not, however, jump to conclusions and wanted to know more. When I told her that I was afraid people would think that I was bragging about my sister, my mother just smiled.

      I think the most important thing that I’ve learned through having Shéri as a sister is that every healthy, normal baby is a wonderful gift. It is most certainly not a given. A healthy body and mind is an incredible blessing. It’s not something that anyone of us can ever earn; it really is a huge, undeserved gift from God.

      With both my pregnancies I was acutely aware of the possibility that I might have a baby who did not live up to the world’s standards of normality. However, that did not cause any doubt in my mind that I wanted kids.

      The tests to determine whether a baby has Down Syndrome have developed over the years. With my first pregnancy, a blood test could fairly accurately determine whether there was a chance of Down Syndrome. If this test was positive, an amniocentesis was performed. With my second pregnancy, new, advanced technology made blood tests 99% accurate.

      I had the tests done during both pregnancies, the only reason being that I liked to plan my life. If I knew that the baby I was expecting was going to be disabled, my husband and I could prepare for what that entailed. The shock would be lessened and we could simply be excited about the new life. Please note: the test results would have made absolutely no difference to my decision to keep the baby.

      I feel very strongly about aborting disabled foetuses. It breaks my heart to think that a mother would deny her baby the right to life, merely because the baby does not comply with her standards of a perfect child. I cannot begin to understand how a mother could do that.

      I will never, ever consider abortion as an option. But if I were to fall pregnant again, I will most certainly have the test done. I think it is important for all parents of a child with Down Syndrome, or any other disability, to know what to expect so that they can prepare themselves as much as possible.

      Suzette

      Dearest little Shéri. My heart aches when I think about her. I love her so much.

      I was born and grew up as part of a family full of love and security. Mom and Dad loved each other, and they loved us dearly, too.

      My mother and father explained to me that Shéri was not like the rest of us – that she sometimes did things a little slower, that she struggled more than us to learn, and that she was a mongol. In those days, that term was acceptable. Only later were we told that it wasn’t nice to use that word. I always wondered what was wrong with it.

      I never found it weird to have a sister with Down Syndrome. It’s all I have ever known. She took her role as the eldest sister so seriously and fulfilled it so beautifully. She taught me many things, like pulling your panties up high, over your navel, to make sure that no one would shoot you. And I believed her – she was my big sister, after all!

      When I was a little older, at about primary-school stage, Shéri and I became close friends. Friends who also had some proper fights. We swam and often played “school”. I liked irritating her, I tickled her, made jokes, and when she had to do her homework, I pushed little notes under her door. One of these incidents led to concussion when I tried to get away after she’d opened the door and I bumped my head on the door frame.

      When we were playing on a Sunday afternoon, I would tease her to the extent that she’d start yelling. Afraid that Mom would scold me, I’d say: “You’re not a baby, don’t yell like that.” But if anyone else tried anything similar with her, I’d be the first to object.

      Shéri’s friends who came to visit were mostly from Martie du Plessis School. I played with all of them and never found any disability strange. I was very impressed with the kids in wheelchairs. Some of them could paint with their feet and do tricks with the wheelchairs.

      As I grew older, and now in my job as a speech therapist, I’ve developed a great deal of empathy for parents of children with disabilities and for disabled people themselves. Maybe because I know a little about this journey.

      Besides the things that Shéri taught me when I was small, she also helped me when I had to prepare for school tests. When my dad or mom were not home, she’d ask me questions to make sure that I knew my work. She especially helped me with Southern Sotho.

      I don’t remember people ever staring at us because of Shéri. All our friends accepted her 100 per cent and never treated her as if she were “different”.

      These days it has become difficult to go anywhere without people looking at her. I assume it’s because she’s had a role in Binnelanders, and because of her various TV interviews. I also stare at people whom I’ve seen on TV.

      I remember one Friday evening when I was in my teens, some boys from Sentraal High School came to visit. One of my friends brought along his cousin. When he introduced us, they pretended that the cousin was disabled. Just then Shéri walked in, and both guys went pale with shock. They didn’t know about her. My friends and I all burst out laughing.

      Laughing is something that our family is quite good at. Laughing for and with one another. So we could laugh for and with Shéri, and she could do the same.

      My mother succeeded in maintaining an extremely good balance with all her children. She gave Shéri all the help and opportunities that she possibly could, while making sure that Marisa and I could fulfil our dreams. I never felt that one of us was favoured. My grandmother was a different story altogether, but I just laughed about it and was never jealous of the extra attention she gave Shéri.

      Shéri often had to accompany my mother when she took me and Marisa to debating competitions or when we performed in the Bloemfontein Children’s Choir concerts, or to say goodbye when we left on choir tours overseas. I felt bad that she had to stay behind.

      It was difficult for Shéri, too. But my mother assured us that one day Shéri would also find her place in the sun. Looking at her today, I know that she has indeed found it. These days my mother accompanies her almost every week when she addresses audiences and when she flies overseas to tell her remarkable story. It makes me so happy.

      Over the years I’ve wondered how new people in my life would react to Shéri. Would they act normally or perhaps be a bit uneasy and not know what to say? It proved to be no problem for my husband, Jaco, although he’d СКАЧАТЬ