lorenzo
We named him Lorenzo. They found him at around 7:30 in the morning of September 28, feast of St. Lorenzo Ruiz de Manila at the women’s restroom crying, wrapped in a course black cloth and placed in a Louis Vuitton light brown dust bag which was laid neatly on the restroom floor near the toilet bowl. At first nobody would like to pick him up thinking that it would be another gory sight like the first two experiences we had before (both babies were found dead). But he was moving . . . alive and definitely strong in his movements. They brought him to the convent with a parade of people - the curious, the moved, the surprised, the sorry and undeniably all of them rowdy. Finally, with too many people wanting to see him including the media, we managed to sneak him out of the convent and brought him to the hospital. As of this writing an infection in the intestines and the lungs are being managed with antibiotics by his paediatrician. Otherwise he is as they say a “well-baby” - healthy, strong, dashingly handsome, with gorgeous dimples, very long legs with big feet to boot (the socks I bought did not fit well), a stunning nose, strong hands with exquisitely beautiful fingers (I warned the nurse to be extra careful with those dextrose needles for I wanted him to become a pianist when he grows up.)
In the introduction to the baptism of a child the parents and godparents are reminded by the priest that a child is a gift from God. Lorenzo is definitely one. The place for the gift giving may be considered inappropriate (a restroom), considering the preciousness of the gift, and the gift wrapping (a dust bag) may have been wanting, considering the wonder of its contents. Yet the fact remains, and I believe everybody would agree with me, that Lorenzo is a gift to us all and to me personally. A child is a gift. Yes my funds are down, my schedules are in shambles, my routine is disturbed, but my heart beats faster now and even stronger, and I feel I have one more exciting reason to get up from my bed every morning.
I know this will be one of those feelings I need to one day suppress, and even force myself to forget. Lorenzo is one lovely thing I could never have in this life. If I have my way, I would. If I insist, I could. But that would be unfair to Lorenzo. He needs a family, a loving stable family, a more welcoming mother perhaps, a more responsible father, and brothers and sisters who would embrace him as their own. It would be unfair to Lorenzo to experience continually (or even just for the second time) that same pattern of rejection and painful leave taking that marked the very day he was born in this world. If we love him we have to let him go and find for him the soonest possible time a proper home where he can grow.
A child is a gift. I say this with the conviction of one who could not have one. And I dare say it again with the conviction of one who, at one time, had it within easy reach but never grabbed it in Lorenzo, with the belief that one’s feelings, however natural, practical and instinctual, could never be used as a reason to compromise life and the possibilities of living it fully. This is how much we have loved Lorenzo in such a short time and for just a short time, and I hope that this love will be remembered more than the unwelcome he received when he was first conceived, and totally erase any speck of rejection he may have felt when he was born. May our love’s pain in giving him up, redeem his pain when he was first given up by a mother’s shame.
I have been a formator for quite some time and I have seen for myself in many young men the effects of childhood experiences in their adult behavior. An attempted abortion or even just the feelings of a mother that accompany an unwanted pregnancy can leave a dent in the personality of the child. The experience of abuse can be devastating. The experience of deprivation can leave him wanting all his life. The incessant and difficult transfers and leave-takings which are especially prevalent in the life of a priest can make him mistrust friendships in the long run. An infant may look innocent and unknowing but his mind is a blank tablet where we write a world view too difficult to erase and to come to terms with in the future.
Lorenzo’s experience was a trauma of rejection, a rejection made more painful because of a woman’s rejection of the fruit of her womb. When God compared his love to a mother’s who would never abandon her child, what kind of loving would Lorenzo come to believe in, in this life? No I am not begging pity. A woman’s rejection and a man’s insensitivity to responsibility, though these may be that of a mother and a father, can be overwhelmed by the unconditional love of a whole household, a whole community who walked the extra mile for him in his hour of need: the bishop and the priests here in the convent who could have entitled this little episode in our otherwise unexciting life “5 men and a Baby;” the convent personnel who took turns watching the babe in the hospital and excitedly cleaned a room in the convent wanting to turn it into a nursery (DSWD did not agree with this arrangement though); the catechists taking turns at night, at a time when babies are known to wantonly disregard the pattern of day for work and night for rest; the two sacristans who at one time watched the baby together waiting to serve him at his call, already acting like a priest we wanted him to become; the spinsters among us who would hotly debate among themselves the proper way to feed and cuddle a baby; a group of friends who opened up cartons of baby things they thought they would never use again; a group wanting to hold for Lorenzo a baby shower . . .
A child is a gift. We have welcomed a child. We have welcomed Lorenzo. We are blessed.
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In the introduction to the baptism of a child the parents and godparents are reminded by the priest that a child is a gift from God. Lorenzo is definitely one. The place for the gift giving may be considered inappropriate (a restroom), considering the preciousness of the gift, and the gift wrapping (a dust bag) may have been wanting, considering the wonder of its contents. Yet the fact remains, and I believe everybody would agree with me, that Lorenzo is a gift to us all and to me personally. A child is a gift. Yes my funds are down, my schedules are in shambles, my routine is disturbed, but my heart beats faster now and even stronger, and I feel I have one more exciting reason to get up from my bed every morning.
I know this will be one of those feelings I need to one day suppress, and even force myself to forget. Lorenzo is one lovely thing I could never have in this life. If I have my way, I would. If I insist, I could. But that would be unfair to Lorenzo. He needs a family, a loving stable family, a more welcoming mother perhaps, a more responsible father, and brothers and sisters who would embrace him as their own. It would be unfair to Lorenzo to experience continually (or even just for the second time) that same pattern of rejection and painful leave taking that marked the very day he was born in this world. If we love him we have to let him go and find for him the soonest possible time a proper home where he can grow.
A child is a gift. I say this with the conviction of one who could not have one. And I dare say it again with the conviction of one who, at one time, had it within easy reach but never grabbed it in Lorenzo, with the belief that one’s feelings, however natural, practical and instinctual, could never be used as a reason to compromise life and the possibilities of living it fully. This is how much we have loved Lorenzo in such a short time and for just a short time, and I hope that this love will be remembered more than the unwelcome he received when he was first conceived, and totally erase any speck of rejection he may have felt when he was born. May our love’s pain in giving him up, redeem his pain when he was first given up by a mother’s shame.
I have been a formator for quite some time and I have seen for myself in many young men the effects of childhood experiences in their adult behavior. An attempted abortion or even just the feelings of a mother that accompany an unwanted pregnancy can leave a dent in the personality of the child. The experience of abuse can be devastating. The experience of deprivation can leave him wanting all his life. The incessant and difficult transfers and leave-takings which are especially prevalent in the life of a priest can make him mistrust friendships in the long run. An infant may look innocent and unknowing but his mind is a blank tablet where we write a world view too difficult to erase and to come to terms with in the future.
Lorenzo’s experience was a trauma of rejection, a rejection made more painful because of a woman’s rejection of the fruit of her womb. When God compared his love to a mother’s who would never abandon her child, what kind of loving would Lorenzo come to believe in, in this life? No I am not begging pity. A woman’s rejection and a man’s insensitivity to responsibility, though these may be that of a mother and a father, can be overwhelmed by the unconditional love of a whole household, a whole community who walked the extra mile for him in his hour of need: the bishop and the priests here in the convent who could have entitled this little episode in our otherwise unexciting life “5 men and a Baby;” the convent personnel who took turns watching the babe in the hospital and excitedly cleaned a room in the convent wanting to turn it into a nursery (DSWD did not agree with this arrangement though); the catechists taking turns at night, at a time when babies are known to wantonly disregard the pattern of day for work and night for rest; the two sacristans who at one time watched the baby together waiting to serve him at his call, already acting like a priest we wanted him to become; the spinsters among us who would hotly debate among themselves the proper way to feed and cuddle a baby; a group of friends who opened up cartons of baby things they thought they would never use again; a group wanting to hold for Lorenzo a baby shower . . .
A child is a gift. We have welcomed a child. We have welcomed Lorenzo. We are blessed.
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