Dear Mrs. Bluth,
I am a 70-year-old widow living in Tel Aviv.
My husband died last year after a long illness. I was happy to be his caretaker but after he died, I found myself at loose ends. One of my children suggested that I do volunteer work at the hospital near my home. This turned out to be a good idea and I now volunteer four days a week in the baby nursery. With all the babies born every week, they can always use an extra pair of hands, and. I feel useful as soon as I put on the white volunteers jacket. And that brings me to the reason for this letter to you, Mrs. Bluth.
About a month ago a young woman gave birth to her first child and to her shock the baby boy was born with Down Syndrome. She and her young husband were not at all prepared for this and were in turmoil.
One of my jobs is to wheel the babies into their mothers for feeding. When I took this sweet little baby into his mother, she was sobbing and with her hand motioned me and the bassinette away. When I got back to the nursery, the head nurse told me that she was sorry that no one had told me that she doesn’t want to see the baby. I felt awful. I asked if perhaps I might talk with her and I was advised not to. I fed the baby his bottle and after that every time I could, I would pick him up and cuddle him.
After two days the young woman left the hospital and she and her husband informed the staff that they would not be taking their child home. The baby was put up for adoption. But every day one of his grandparents would come to visit him and hold him. In addition to that I noticed that all the nurses would make it a point to pass his little bassinette and touch him and say something to him.
He is now three weeks old and was just taken home by the couple who will be adopting him. He was dressed in nice new clothing and everyone made a big deal of saying goodbye and hugging him. The tears ran down my face as I gave him a hug. I am happy for him that he will be in a loving home, but I’m sad that it isn’t his parents who wanted him. I find myself crying when I think of that. My daughter tells me that I should be overjoyed and not the least bit sad. What do you think?
To Be Continued