Nearly thirty years ago, I discovered that I had a sister who had been placed in an institution as a very young child. It was something that was quite common in those days. The existence of family members who were physically and/or mentally handicapped was regarded as shameful. It was a family secret often kept well hidden.

 

The institution reported that my sister Bonita was severely mentally handicapped. She had no speech, and her mental age was that of a young toddler. No contact details were listed for her family. She was no trouble, they reported, just sat in a chair all day, with all her needs being met by staff. She had no attachments to anyone or anything.

 

I puzzled over what to do, as the institution she had been placed in was many miles from my home, inaccessible by public transport, and my own circumstances were very difficult. Although there didn’t seem to be much I could do for Bonita, I decided that it might be a good thing if the staff knew that someone somewhere cared about her, so I decided to start sending her a weekly card.

 

After about a year I received a report from the institution that surprised me. Bonita had started carrying her weekly card with her everywhere she went, until it disintegrated. It is the only sign she has ever shown of attaching herself to anything. That small act had made a difference in her life. Thirty years on I still send her weekly card, and she still clings to it until it disintegrates. It is as Mother Teresa says:

 

“We can do no great things; only small things with great love.”