On August 23rd, 1959, Sheila Anne Cloman was born.  Weighing in at 7lbs, 4oz with brown eyes and a hint of auburn hair, she was as normal as any other baby in the nursery.  That is, of course, except to her parents and her older brother and sister.  Three years later, she was the big sister, being held up to see the new baby, Jason Cameron.  He was a little screamer with a headful of hair, and with all the attention he got, Sheila found herself wishing they’d just send him back with the stork that brought him.

Over the next several years, she repeated that wish to anyone who might be able to do something about it – Jesus, Santa, the Easter Bunny… she even left a note with the zookeeper, just in case that stork ever flew in to visit his family.  Her parents just gently reminded her that life happens, and someday there would be an answer, though we may have to wait until we arrive in Heaven to get it.

Jason, you see, was mentally handicapped.  The doctors discussed such things as heat exhaustion, undue stress, the fact that labor was induced, the baby went breech, and it was too late for a cesarean, but the end result was still the same – Jason was a child with special needs.  Life happens, and you deal with it.

As Sheila, Tom, and Jenny grew up, they grew to accept and even love their younger brother.  A surprise to the rest of the family, Sheila was the one who developed the closest relationship with him.  She had a special patience and found ways that he could help her with little things, from picking up toys to drying the plasticware after dinner.  These moments were the best, because just for an instant, Jason’s usually dull eyes would light up, his mouth would form a rare wide smile, his back would get a little straighter, and he would glow with pride in his accomplishment and the fact that he had made a contribution to the family unit.

Not that he didn’t smile at other times – he was the most happy-go-lucky little guy you could ever meet.  Every member of the family was met with a broad grin and a bear hug so strong that they’d have to remind him to be gentle.  He had fun leading visitors and friends through the house to see his collections of matchbox cars and shaped erasers.  He whooped and hollered with the cowboys on TV and nearly broke down his favorite chair in the living room when the car races were on.  His dad and brother enjoyed watching the races, so by golly, he did too!  It didn’t matter to him who won or lost, only that he was sharing time with his family and watching the cars go around.

Ahh, but when he could be proud of himself – when he could do something that earned him the title ‘Helper’ – these were his finest moments!  It was difficult to let him help, as everything took longer and you had to be very careful he didn’t pick up something fragile or dangerous.  He didn’t quite know the difference, and he certainly didn’t realize his own strength.  His attempts at bed making and table setting left much to be desired, but he gave it his best shot.   Socks never quite got matched and folded on the first try, because it was way too much fun to toss them into the air and watch them flutter back to the couch.  This exercise would be followed by an ornery giggle and one of those “what have you done now” looks from across the room.  Few things really seemed worth scolding him about, especially since his greatest desire was to see his family as happy as himself.

Soon, Jason would be following Sheila into the kitchen to dry some spoons or make some Kool-Aid, and all was right with the world again.