TRIUMPH
By Ahava Ehrenpreis | MAY 26, 2020
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Magazine)
Triumph: 1.a great victory or achievement. 2. The processional entry of a victorious general into ancient Rome.
I stand outside a neat stucco house on a residential street in Brooklyn and the word triumph fills my head. What is the connection between this structure and the victory parade of ancient conquering heroes? Indeed, I feel that I am about to witness an even greater triumph. One door i a neat brass sign reading “Makor Disability Services—Women’s League,” while the white door to the left has no sign. I ring the left bell; within moments my son Saadya swings open the door with an even brighter than usual joyful smile, “Welcome to my apartment, Mom!”
I never dared to dream of this victory. Not mine, but his. Parents of a special need child learn that every step in the growth of a special child is a triumph. The word trivial never applies to any achievement. Sitting, walking, talking, throwing a ball, putting on a shoe, recognizing the letter that begins his or her name…the list of victorious moments is infinite. But perhaps the greatest triumph is one that never occured to anyone in previous generations.
“Come upstairs, Mom, the guys are waiting to meet you.” We walk up to a central hallway. Straight ahead is a sunny dining room where cookies and drinks are set out. Saadi points me to a living room with couches, a big DVD screen, and three smiling young men. “Mom, this is Chaim, and that’s Dovid, and that’s Moshe. Everybody, this is my mom.” “Hi,” “Hello,” and a wave; perhaps they are a little shy, but they greet me with smiles that mirror Saadi’ s friendly countenance. Now Saadi pulls me past a bright kitchen with two sinks, a coffee machine, and wide counters. “Come see my room!” Down the hall, he proudly opens the door. Two windows let in the sun to reflect the matching bed, dresser, and night table. Saadi had chosen the blue and green linens before moving to “his” house. On his desk his prized possessions are neatly lined up, his DVD player and CD collection displayed. His shirts are hanging next to his suits, and his Shabbos shoes and sneakers are aligned on the floor of his closet. I see the Israeli tefillin bagl on a shelf. “ The “Welcome Saadya” sign that had greeted him when he had moved in was taped to the wall. “This is my room!”
The journey toward this moment began over fourteen years ago! We dutifully followed the recommendations of the professionals and registered him for potential residences when he would “age out” of school programs. I did not take it too seriously; who could better care for my child than his family, and it was so theoretical, I didn’t give it much thought. Our house was busy, bustling family and he was a welcome part of it all. There did not seem to be potential for a residence other than ours.
But the cycle of life continued. Siblings married, his father a”h succumbed to the disease he had fought for several years. And then, it was a much quieter household; visitors and siblings might visit, but Saadi was the “man in the house.” That meant going to shul alone, and a house and Shabbos table with a majority of women. The idea of a residence was brought up, but very few
opportunities for placement.. One visit to a potential residence so traumatized Saadi that the very words “group home” had him insisting that he lived with his “mom and sister, ’cause this is where we all belong.” I couldn’t imagine his absence. He is a very happy, positive guy—and he also took out the garbage, set the table, and—well, the house was empty enough! So, I assured everyone that nothing was available.
Then came the phone call! Strangely, the ring of life-altering calls sounds just like robocalls. “Mrs. E. this is Shani from Makor/Women’s League Services. We have an opening in a beautiful apartment that we think would be ideal for Saadya.”
I checked it out and almost immediately agreed that I could not have dreamed of a more perfect apartment! It housed three young men whose functioning level seemed similar to Saadi’s. It was in a familiar neighborhood, about ten minutes from our house. There had not been an opening in this apartment in two decades! Most of the staff, too, had been there for all those years. I felt that everyone f was very open to including me in his new life. I recognized the gift that Hashem was sending us. Perhaps, it was indeed, time to march forward to a new stage for us both.
The following Sunday, Saadi’s counselor from HASC took Saadi to see the apartment. He returned bubbling with excitement to inform me that he was going to “move into my own place!” The actual move was a slow process. He went there to celebrate his birthday. Then a barbecue, then a sleepover in “his” new room for a single night, once week, and then a period when he firmly stated, “I am NOT moving!” I was on an emotional roller coaster, both certain that it would never happen and guiltily afraid that it would! The Makor staff patiently gave both Saadi and me time to make this happen.
Then, Saadi agreed to move! He wanted to leave his room as is and would need new things for his apartment. During a whirlwind shopping spree, we purchased a new wardrobe and shopped for some special items. I reassured him that his room here was going to stay the same and he could come home to “our” house anytime. To mark it as a momentous move forward for him, my niece and nephew drove in from Monsey to take him to the residence. I did not accompany them, but after settling Saadi in, my niece and nephew kindly came back and took me out to dinner.
After almost half a year, I can triumphantly say that Saadi has been home infrequently for Shabbos. When our family Chanukah party ended, he politely explained that he had to get back to his apartment. Perhaps ironically, the adjustment may have been more challenging for me! I miss his smiling, good-natured positivity. but I can now buy half gallons of ice cream (Saadi considered all packages as single portions) and . I was able to stay in Israel for an extended time.. I realize that what I had feared was a “selfish decision to give myself more freedom” in fact, gave him a better quality of life! I am included in planning his schedule and working on a smooth adjustment. I knew that we had turned a corner when he politely said that Dovid (weekend counselor) did not think he should come home for Shabbos. However, I was assured that no one had objected to his coming home. “Saadi, do you want to stay at the apartment for Shabbos?” “Well, yes, I have to set the table and make kiddush and motzie for everyone and it’s
Chaim’s birthday and we are going to go out for lunch on Sunday.” “Saadi, if your friends need you there on Shabbos, then of course, you have to stay there! Let me know when you want to come to our house for Shabbos.”
Saadya is independent! He feels the pride and self-esteem of an adult with his own friends and his own life, just like his siblings! The march to this triumphant moment was a long one and he has come out the victor. We bask in the reflected glory of his joy. “This is my apartment, Mom,. It’s really cozy, isn’t it?” “Yes, Saadya, it’s beautiful. I love it and I can’t wait to come again and visit you here in your house.”
Victory and triumphant marches come in many forms.