Love, marriage and an inclusive world
Walter and Carol Wormald both live with a developmental disability. They have been married 31 years.
HE NOTICED HER at the track and field meet. ‘Notice’ being his word. By all accounts, it was a special type of I’m-interested-in-you kind of prolonged noticing that sent one, indisputable message straight to his heart: I want to marry her.
She doesn’t remember him at all. It could have ended there. But a few weeks later, fate brought them together again at an awards dinner and dance for Special Olympic athletes at the legion hall in Port Colborne.
She was stood up by another guy. He swooped in and asked her to dance.
They slow danced in circles to “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
And at the end, as Elvis crooned his final lyrics of love, he had a few words of his own for his track-and-field crush: “I’d like to marry you.”
She said yes.
Earlier this month, Walter and Carol Wormald celebrated 31 years of marriage.
“He asked me to dance; he asked me very gently,” says Carol.
“I felt like he was a good man. And I always wanted to stay with him.”
And she did. Simple as that.
They dated for several years. Walter bought Carol a heart-shaped engagement ring from Peoples Jewellers in Seaway Mall, took her out for Chinese food, and presented it to her.
They married in Welland on a very hot sunny day on July 4, 1984. Carol in a white satin dress with longsleeved lace arms; Walter looking dapper in a black suit and tie.
Carol is 60; Walter, 58. They are witnesses to a society that has undergone a metamorphosis of acceptance from the established practice of housing people with intellectual disabilities in institutions to supporting their right to live in an inclusive community.
They live in a house in St. Catharines, filled with family photographs, paintings created by Walter, Special Olympics medals hung in neat rows on the wall and, according to Carol, lots of love.
They receive some help with life skills including finances, laundry and grocery shopping, and transportation to appointments from Christian Horizons’ supported independent living program. But for the most part, they are on their own.
“They are dedicated to each other,” says Patty Vlar, vice-president of Strategic Transitions with Christian Horizons. She has known them for some 27 years.
“They don’t have a give up attitude. They have a let’s-go-forward attitude.”
And while her organization has been passionate advocates for an inclusive world, it’s role models such as Carol and Walter that present the best case on why an inclusive community works.
“It’s when they live it that people see the difference,” notes Vlar.
Walter knows all city buses by route and number and most drivers know him by name. The couple navigates by public transit to all parts in between: the movies, Swiss Chalet for a quarter-chicken dinner, shopping at Fairview Mall and Kiwanis Pool where they swim. They both sing in the Momentum choir.
“We love being independent and doing things on our own,” says Carol. “But it doesn’t hurt to have support workers. You’ve got to get out and energize yourself.”
WALTER, 58, WAS BORN to missionary parents in La Paz, Bolivia, some 3,500 metres above sea level. It’s thought the low levels of oxygen and a bout of hepatitis while his mother was pregnant, likely resulted in Walter’s disability, says his sister, Millicent Wormald.
Soon after he was born, the family moved back to Canada and settled in Hamilton.
Doctors said he’d never walk, talk or “do anything,” remembers his sister. Growing up, he faced a prejudiced society that had little tolerance for people with disabilities. They were mostly segregated and institutionalized. Walter attended a school in St. Catharines for children with disabilities and then when he was a teenager, moved some three hours away to live in an institution near Windsor. At the time, there were no community programs to educate and teach him life skills.
The institution, since shut down in 2008, was an “imposing” building set back into the countryside. Walter’s room was one of a myriad of spaces with a bed and dresser, sectioned off by dividers in a large gymnasium.
His parents, Sylvia and Arthur Wormald, were his strongest advocates and believed people with disabilities should live in the community. They were part of a group that lobbied the provincial government to bring people out of institutions and into the community, and they helped to form the first Association for Community Living in Hamilton.
The family later moved to a farm in Beamsville, hoping that Walter could learn labour skills. His parents worried what would happen to him after they died.
They don’t have a give up attitude. They have a let’s-go-forward attitude.”
They worked alongside Christian Horizons and applied for government funding so that Walter could live in the community. He was one of the first to move out of the institution, eventually into a group home in Welland where he learned life skills such as making meals, grocery shopping and living with people.
Neighbours were skeptical, but warmed up to Walter and the other residents after being invited in to meet them, said Millicent, an elementary school teacher near Windsor.
In the community, he was vulnerable to derogatory comments and insensitive people who would take advantage of him and do things like steal his money on the bus, or tease him because of his large size.
Walter’s parents worked to educate him on his rights. They’d rehearse responses so he could stand up for himself to kindly but firmly inform people that he belonged in the community, too.
“Walter realized sometimes people are not fair,” says Millicent.
Their mother had a Ukranian-Polish background and faced some discrimination growing up in Canada. She had a soft spot for Walter, and a hard stance against inequality. “She had quite a heart,” says Millicent.
“They (his parents) made sure he had the best opportunities for success.”
“When you look at the community Walter and Carol have built for themselves. They have learned how to be included in the community.
“They were probably some of the first people to go out and say, ‘We’re here and we want to do things. We want to have opportunities. We want to be part of the community.’
“They don’t stop when someone says it can’t be done. They try another way.”
THERE ARE FEW who believe Carol is 60 years old. Even Carol has her doubts.
“Everyone says, ‘I can’t believe you look so young,’” she says, smiling.
Carol grew up in Niagara Falls. When she was four years old, she was hit in the head with a swing seat, says her sister, Peggy Nobel. After that, she suffered from grand mal seizures and was diagnosed with epilepsy.
The intensity and frequency of her seizures is reduced with medication, which Walter makes sure she takes.
“There’s not much she doesn’t do without him,” says Peggy. “She’s very protective of him. She makes she he’s included in everything. She’s like a little mother hen.”
Carol was teased and bullied as a girl, but overcame life challenges to become a happy, chatty, bubbly woman, says Peggy.
“She’s just amazing. She gets upset and lets it go. She doesn’t dwell.”
She is a word search puzzle whiz and reads to her nieces. She earned her Grade 12 diploma as an adult, and was once presented a Special Olympics medal by retired professional hockey player Darryl Sittler.
“She’s so independent,” says Peggy. “She’s just happy and that makes me happy.”
ON THIS DAY, Carol and Walter spend the afternoon in a local park. Their support workers help them celebrate their anniversary with a picnic of Chinese food.
Afterwards, they walk along a gravel path, holding hands. And enjoy a kiss. Or two. Or three.
“I like her a lot,” says Walter. “She’s gentle and kind.”
Carol reaches across to Walter and grabs his hand.
“I love him 100 per cent. I care about him. I think about him every day. He knows I think about him every day as I go to work. Everywhere.”