Thank You Erma Bombeck

Erma Bombeck would have been 83 today. We never met, but through her books I felt like she was a friend and I will always be grateful for her writing which makes me laugh and makes me cry.

I first came across her books in San Francisco. When we came across the bookshop  I thought I’d died and gone to heaven – three floors of books, comfortable chairs, a cafe, loos and it was open at 10.30pm.

One of the several books we walked out with was Erma’s  Motherhood, The Second Oldest Profession. It’s a collection of mostly humorous tales about real life mothers and mothering. But among the funny stories are some poignant ones, including A Special Mother.

It tells of a conversation between God and an angel about choosing which baby goes to which mother.

. . . Finally, He passes a name to an angel and smiles, “Give her a handicapped child.”

The angel is curious. “Why this one, God? She’s so happy”

“Exactly,” smiles God. “Could I give a handicapped child a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel.”

“But does she have patience?” asks the angel.

“I don’t want her to have too much patience, or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wear off, she’ll handle it.” . . .

It was just a couple of years since our son who’d had multiple disabilities, had died and it moved me, but not as much as the next chapter entitled Ginny.

It tells of a woman bringing her sister a copy of The Special Mother. Ginny who’s son is profoundly disabled, isn’t impressed. But when her sister leaves, she catches her own reflection in a mirror.

She was stunned by what she saw. A thirty-year-old woman with hundred-year-old eyes. Eyes that were dull and listless. Eyes that held no joy. Eyes that looked but never seems to see anything that interested them. Eyes that reflected no life – only pain.

. . . She knelt beside B.J. “Look B.J. there’s something I’ve got to tell you. I’m no saint. It’s important to me for you to know that. I have cursed you for my guilt, my exhaustion and my life. I have questioned why both of us were born. I haven’t figured out yet why He brought us together. I only know there is something special between us . . . I couldn’t bear it if you were not here, or if you had never been. . .

“B.J. I’ve never made any demands on you. I’ve never asked you for anything, but right now, I want you to say ‘Mama’. I know it’s not going to be perfect, but try. Just make a sound. . .

The saliva came out of the conrer of B.J.’s mouth. No sound came forth. then Ginny noticed his eyes. they stared back into hers in a way she had never seen before. They didn’t focus right away, then they looked at her for the first time. . . He knew who she was!

. . .B.J. had just spoken his first word with his eyes. He had called her ‘Mama’.”

This was the first thing I’d come across which expressed the reality of life with a disabled child and even now, more than 15 years after our son’s death, I still can’t read it without crying.

Both of these are still under copyright which is why I haven’t copied them in full. A search for Erma Bombeck, special mother or disabled child will take you to several copies of A Special Mother. I haven’t been able to find a copy of Ginny online.