After I got married and before I had my first child, I worked in a life skills center for disabled adults. This is Edgar, his was 62 at the time this photo was taken and yes, he has Down's Syndrome. As an infant in the late 1930's, he was placed in an institution because his disability made him unsafe and put his siblings at risk. *note: please try and ignore my overly large pregnant-ness in the pic :) I'm not sure I can comprehend, as a mother, sending my child off to an institution. At least, that's my initial thought. But if I am honest, and if I were Edgar's mother and the whole world was fear mongering about how dangerously unpredictable he would be and about how taxing it would be, how difficult, how alone I would be, I might have listened too. During that era, with so little help and compassion in regards to disabilities or mental health challenges, was there really another option for Edgar's mother?
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye." -Antoine Saint-Exupéry