Love & Money

About a month ago as I was standing in line to use the ATM at the Banrural in Tactic, I noticed a boy getting off of a bus. He was kicking and flailing about, and I initially thought he was just throwing a tantrum. Then I noticed his hands were tied behind his back. He managed to work one free and started repeatedly hitting himself on the head with it, all the while his legs twitching and kicking. His mother got off the bus behind him and calmly but forcefully held his arms down, tying his hands back in place as she led him up the street to the park. Behind the shield of my sunglasses, I started crying. How difficult life must be for this mother and her child.

Less than a week later I saw this same mother and son in the central park. As before, the boy’s hands were tied behind his back, and this time he was wearing a skateboarding helmet as protection from himself. His arms were working to get loose and his legs were twitching uncontrollably, as his mother, just as calm as the last time I saw her, walked with him in the direction of the market. People stared as they passed, but the mother, seemingly oblivious to the unwanted attention, kept her head up and gently guided her son with one arm around his shoulders. Once again tears welled up in my eyes.

When I first learned that it was possible for Mynor to have a life-saving surgery but it would most likely leave him with a permanent mental disability, this boy served as the basis for my vision of what his life would be like. A burden and a spectacle. Someone to be pitied. But to whom was this boy a burden and a spectacle? Whose pity did he warrant? I imagined him to be a burden. I contributed to making him a spectacle. I pitied him. With the gawkers in the park, all I saw was the disability. All I saw was a difficult situation in a country where life in and of itself is difficult enough. I failed to recognize the driving force behind this interaction between mother and son. I failed to recognize love—love in its purest most unselfish form.

After presenting the probable “grim” outcome of Mynor’s surgery, I was shocked when Aura and Carlos decided to go through with it. I didn’t want to influence their decision, but I didn’t understand it. In my mind there was a white tablet divided into “positive” and “negative” consequences of the operation. The negative side was full, while the only thing I could categorize as positive was “Mynor comes out of the surgery perfectly normal.” But there were no white tablets in Aura and Carlos’ minds. There was no need to list positives and negatives to see which side was longer. Their decision was based solely on love. Love is blind to disabilities. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

I never would have questioned an American couples’ desire to have the surgery for their baby. We are a rich people in a rich country, and more often than not, when it comes to saving the life of someone we love, money is of no consequence. So why were economic reasons underlying every negative in my mental list for and against Mynor’s surgery? Why did I think Mynor’s death would be better for the family than the economic burden his life with a disability would cause? Because I was thinking rationally. But rationality has no place in matters of the heart. Love trumps rationale. Love is not diminished by poverty and hardship. Love does not take back seat to economic ability, whether it is in the United States, Guatemala, or some other less developed country. Yes, Mynor’s life would have presented challenges to his family, but above all he would have been loved. I came to this realization, and then he died.