A mother never forgets comments like these about her baby:
"Mercifully, most of these children die by the age of 10, usually with an upper respiratory infection."
"You must be realistic about him — don't treat him in an emergency room situation."
These words were spoken to me in 1977 about my son, Kevin Beggs. My whole world changed forever, and I could only imagine what the future would bring: heartbreak, anger, resentment. Name a terrible emotion and I most likely experienced it. Though not religious, I still felt anger toward a God who would inflict such suffering on an innocent baby.
As the months went by, each new diagnosis brought more bad news about Kevin’s condition: legally blind, spastic quadriplegic, cerebral palsy, mental retardation. He would have all the capabilities and limitations of an 18-month-old child long after passing that age.
But despite his many handicaps, this is an uplifting story about Kevin's life and the remarkable ways his presence has affected others
One of Kevin's earliest contributions was helping introduce me to Terry Bandell, who has been my cherished friend for 38 years. She was the receptionist at the United Cerebral Palsy Institute when I began taking Kevin there when he was just a few months old.
When Kevin attended a school for visually impaired children, he was always smiling and laughing except for when one particular worker was around, which the other staff noticed. After closer observation, it was apparent that this staffer, while not abusing the children, was handling them much too harshly, and that employee was dismissed.
There was also one time when Kevin and I were playing on the floor that, due to his spastic arms, he accidentally scratched my eyeball with his fingernail. My future husband, Bill, took me to the emergency room. My being treated there led doctors to realize that I also had glaucoma, and I have been helped by treatment for it with eye drops ever since
Perhaps Kevin’s most notable help occurred when he wasn’t even present, when I was returning late at night to my car in a church parking lot in the North Hills. The car stalled initially, and as I restarted the engine, I noticed that Kevin's car seat was unbuckled and moved. The passenger side door was also unlocked.
I reached over to lock the door, thinking I must have been in a hurry earlier and had accidentally left it unlocked. But as I was driving out of the parking lot onto the road, a man wearing a black ski mask jumped out and began pulling on the door. He had broken into the car earlier, and believing that the door was still unlocked, he kept pulling on the door even though I frantically drove as fast as I could and successfully got away from him.
He was eventually caught and charged with stalking and assaulting several other women. To this day, I believe that Kevin's car seat saved me from being the victim of an unthinkable crime.
Kevin has also had a special impact on his older brother, Sean, who has always been very protective of him. Sean was able to get special equipment for residents housed at the Verland Foundation in Sewickley, where Keven now lives. Sean has also given Kevin two loving nieces who know just how “special” their Uncle Kevin is.
Despite the original predictions for a short, unfulfilling life, Kevin celebrated his 39th birthday last month. Looking back, the heartache has been surpassed by the joy in seeing how fruitful his life has been.
Yes, I asked “Why?” many times, but the dire emotions I once felt seem to be from another lifetime as I see the wonderful, caring friends Kevin has at Verland. I have met remarkable, compassionate people through him. His day is filled with many activities, and all of his family, which now includes another brother, Bill, and a sister, Julie, participate in his life.
When a parent is told that something is wrong with a child, it is like descending into a dark abyss. The fear of the unknown is almost unbearable. I know, as I was there for a long time.
But now, whenever I am with Kevin, I hold him close to me, give him lots of hugs and kisses and tell him, " I love you, Kevin. Thank you for being my son."
Joan Huber of Moon can be reached at jkbh46@yahoo.com.
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First Published: September 16, 2015, 4:00 a.m.