The weekly magazine LaIsha has a section called “Letters that were never written”. This week it published this letter, written by Miriam Bashi, a volunteer at AKIM’s “Parents for Parents” hotline.

To my different son

When you were born your sister was four years old. I was overjoyed: I now had both a daughter and a son.

When you were still in my womb my father passed away, and so we decided to honor his memory by giving you his name. But it was not just the name which concerned me. I hoped I could pass on to you also some of my father’s practical wisdom, which no university in the world can teach. I hoped you would inherit his sense of humor, his wonderful ability to see things in a positive light, and occasionally turn black to rosy.

Sadly, I could give you none of these. When you were born we discovered that you suffer from mental retardation, a terrible phrase which in no way reflects the human being to which it refers, my wonderful child. Despite your limited understanding and expressive ability you always possessed, and still do, a wonderful vocabulary which you use on every occasion to compliment and thank, no matter what it was that was done for you – preparing a simple sandwich or giving you a CD of one of your favorite singers. We always say that from a “normal” child we would never get such thanks and compliments, only from a good soul like you.

When you grew up we thought it was time to make a decision. With a heavy heart we realized that it was better for you to stay in a hostel with other wards like you. At the age of twenty-one you moved to the hostel, and since then have come home every two weeks for a long weekend.

I cannot express in words how much it hurt me to see you return to the hostel after your first home visit. True, you didn’t protest and didn’t ask to stay home and not go back “there”. But in your eyes you had an opaque look, of someone resigned to his fate.

I am certain that already then you understood that the hostel would be your home for many years to come. I consoled myself by thinking that probably you were satisfied there from the very beginning, only a bit confused by the change.

Time, so they say, heals. This was true for you, too. You became used to your new home, made the acquaintance of the other wards, and in your own way even developed some social contacts. As you said: “At the beginning it was hard because I didn’t have any friends, but now it’s fun because I have friends”.

I could not hope for more, and I am therefore grateful also to the hostel staff, who have done a wonderful job for you.

So, my dear son, please forgive me for having thought that although you were an eternal child the time had come for you to leave home. Forgive me for having made you go through the process of having to get used to your new home. Forgive me for the relief I feel now that you don’t live here. Forgive me for having breathed in relief when I saw someone else taking charge of you. Forgive me that today, when you are no longer a part of my everyday life, I function better.

Thank you for having gotten used to your new home, thank you for being happy, and thank you for the fact that today, when we return you to the hostel you barely say “goodbye” and run to your friends. I could not hope or pray for more.

I love you

Forever and ever

Your mom