Ricardito was his only son. When he was born, with his first heartbeat, projects and illusions began to be forged in his mother. She would add that perhaps she thought: tomorrow this little pile of warm meat will have its own ideas, his ambitions. He will create with his hands his future, his own world.
But Ricardito was not born normal. He had a small brain injury.
His mother accepted him serenely, because we learn to accept, what we cannot do is learn to suffer.
When he was 2 years old, he was taken to a rehabilitation center.
Ricardito walked with difficulty and his arms did not perform normal movements either. Furthermore, it was difficult for him to keep his head steady.
When carried by his mother he crossed the gate of the rehabilitation center for the first time, located in the great Buenos Aires, his lively eyes were filled with astonishment.
He thought he was entering a forest – there was really a small park and a path of about 40 meters lined with pine trees. Until they came to the old building that the boy thought was a palace.
They were attended by Dr. Irma, young and friendly, who began by saying:
-I’m going to give you, madam, a series of difficult and sacrificed exercises that Ricardito will have to do, helped by you, of course.
-You will have to do them every day and for a long time.
At 8 years old, Ricardito could walk almost normally; with his hands he could already take the cutlery to eat, draw, take a magazine. His head she could hold firmly.
He had also put all his iron will into the difficult undertaking. And the will does not grant victory, but brings it closer…
He was a polite, obedient boy and above all very helpful.
He felt happy that he could make others happy.
Everyone loved him, doctors, nurses, companions. Only one detail caused him a lot of pain: he couldn’t express himself, he couldn’t speak.
Only some vowels could emit: the a, the o, the u, but nothing else.
When she was 12 years old, Dr. Irma called her mother into her office and spoke to her with the same dose of humanity as in that first interview ten years ago.
-Lady: we have done for Ricardito everything that was humanly possible, between you, him and me. But 3 years ago – and my weekly schedules indicate it to me with sad precision – in terms of language, we have made no progress. We have not managed to get him to speak despite the fact that his vocal cords are healthy. It is undoubtedly a psychological problem.
-In any case, he has recovered almost completely physically and tomorrow he will be able to be a useful man to himself and to others. He no longer needs to come here as a patient.
-I just have to tell you, Mrs., that we want next Sunday to have a small farewell party for Ricardito.
Sunday arrived, a bright Sunday in September, with a radiant sun, as if nature wanted to join the party.
Ricardito, in a beautiful new suit and a beautiful blue tie, impeccably combed, walked gracefully through the same gate that 10 years ago had seen him pass in his mother’s arms, with difficulty.
In an external gallery that overlooked the park, around a long table, all the classmates with their parents, the doctors, the nurses, from the doorman to the Director of the establishment… and Dr. Irma, were waiting for him.
Simple speeches were made, a comrade spoke who gave Ricardito a gift; a doctor also spoke.
Dr. Irma got up but was unable to speak. She took the child in her arms and kissed him one, ten, a hundred times.
The party is over.
Everyone accompanied Ricardito to the gate when he left, everyone except Doctor Irma, who stayed waving her handkerchief and trying to hide her emotion.
Upon reaching the gate, the boy turned around and wanted to go back to the gallery. His mother told him:
-Ricardito, it’s already too late. We must return home.
For the first time the boy did not obey him; instead, he grabbed her mother’s hand tightly and almost ran back to where Dr. Irma was still standing.
She placed her mother next to her and looked at them alternately from one to the other with her beautiful, clear light blue eyes.
Seconds or minutes passed, time did not count. Ricardito needed to speak and as if God gave him superhuman spiritual strength from Heaven, Ricardito’s voice was heard:
-Irma – Mom!.
And my modest tribute to Dr. Irma, and to all the doctors who make their profession a priesthood, I close this note with this aphorism:
“The doctor who does not understand souls will not understand bodies.”
Source: Ambito
David William is a talented author who has made a name for himself in the world of writing. He is a professional author who writes on a wide range of topics, from general interest to opinion news. David is currently working as a writer at 24 hours worlds where he brings his unique perspective and in-depth research to his articles, making them both informative and engaging.
