Jennifer’s Legacy, Part I

Jennifer and Topaz, 1997

The first time I met Jennifer, she was just a baby. My mother and I had gone to see her and her adopted parents, who had served as my own surrogate family during my last year of high school. Jennifer’s parents had taken me in when my family moved from our home to the city and I refused to go. They were a young couple, in their late twenties, and my life with them was a joy, my love for them was immeasurable. So, it was with great delight that I received the news of Jennifer’s adoption. I knew how badly they had wanted a child and their joy was tangible.

Jennifer was eight months old and just at the really adorable baby phase. Her proud parents gleamed. Jennifer was special. It was apparent that she had brought the joy her new parents had longed for and which I had longed for on their behalf. The visit made the world seem right, until my mother and I were in the car on the way home.

“There is something wrong with that baby,” my mother said.

“What on earth are you talking about?” I asked her impatiently. My mother had a gift for the macabre and her statement wounded my good spirit.

“I don’t know,” she said apologetically, “I just think something is wrong.”

We spoke no further of it, and I returned to my home in London. Several months later, she called me with the news that Jennifer had been diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Her prognosis was grim and the doctors had recommended to her parents that she be institutionalized. “Which, of course, you know, without me telling you, that they refused,” my mother added.

“Well, thank god she has the parents she does,” I concluded.

I heard only the worst of Jennifer’s progress over the next six years. She was confined to a wheelchair, was spastic in all her limbs, had voluntary use of only two fingers on her left hand and was non-verbal. Her parents became tireless advocates for the disabled, tried every new therapy and treatment known to man. Jennifer lived at home, and for all her disabilities, I knew that she was happy.

I returned for a vacation about the time Jennifer was seven. I spoke to her mother on the phone and she told me of Jennifer’s distinct love of horses. I don’t know what made me say it, but I immediately suggested that she bring Jennifer out to my parent’s acreage for a ride. My family had been breeding Morgan horses for some years and we had a beautiful bay mare with the soul of an angel. I guess I figured she and Jennifer would be a good fit.

My mother was shocked and horrified that I would even consider putting so frail a child, who could not sit up unaided, on a horse, least of all her favorite mare. “I’ll ride with her and hold her up,” I retorted. We battled it out, neither one giving in, until Jennifer and her family arrived for their visit the next day.

I had saddled up the mare, Topaz, and was working at the futile business of ‘wearing her down’. So intent on this was I that I had failed entirely to note the arrival of my friends, who stood along the fence watching me ride a mare with the indefinable spirit of a show horse. Suddenly, my idea didn’t seem so clever; how could I put a child on this mare, so full of fire and razzmatazz?

My awareness returned to the present and I saw a little child in a wheelchair, looking at me with a gaze I immediately recognized-that of a horse crazy kid. Her eyes sparkled and her mouth was wide open and a steady stream of saliva was trickling down her chin. Her head tipped back and a squeal of delight rose up into the branches of the old mulberry tree.

Whatever discomfort I felt at the sight of Jennifer and the reality of her disabilities was quickly overshadowed by Topaz’s fascination with her. When I rode the mare over to their group, she dropped her head and looked Jennifer in the eye. Jennifer reached out to touch her, awkwardly, with those two fingers of hers and Topaz moved towards the caress, only to find the child’s fingers up her nostril. The mare never moved her head and all the introductions were completed with Jennifer’s fingers up Topaz’s nose.

All of my concerns at that moment, dispersed. I instructed Jennifer’s mother to slowly raise Jennifer up to the saddle, where we arranged her in front of me. It soon became apparent that I was not going to be able to use the reins and hold Jennifer at the same time, so I renewed my faith and prayed to every god I could imagine and some that I made up, to watch over us. My prayers were answered.

Topaz lowered her head and walked, careful to support the awkwardness of both her riders. She took slow steps and made wide, gentle turns when I asked her with only my legs to guide her. I could not see Jennifer’s face, but I could feel her smile in my arms. Her mother and my mother were standing along the fence watching, both smiling, both with tears streaming down their faces. It was perfect, beautiful and profound.

It was so easy, so simple to make this child’s dream come true. The sheer impossibility of it, just vanished with the breeze, and so did Jennifer’s disabilities. What became increasingly clear to me was that the emphasis should be placed on what was possible. A seven year old child gave me a vision of what life could be, without a single word, but with peels of laughter.

It took me six more years to hear the call to action. Looking back, it was the first of several epiphanies directly involving Jennifer. I decided to take control of my life, moved back to America and started working full time with the horses. Jennifer was not far behind. I immersed myself in research about riding for the disabled and developed a pilot program for Jennifer, involving Topaz and several volunteers.

Again, it was easy. People got hooked. Their astonishment always gave way first to tears and then to abject joy in Jennifer’s presence. She had charisma that radiated off her in waves. One volunteer said, “When I leave here [after helping Jennifer ride] I feel like I can do anything!” We were all under the impression that we were helping Jennifer, when, in fact, I believe the opposite was true: Jennifer was helping us.

[To be continued...]