crime of compassion

“I can’t believe they put her away like that – she’s only 15.And the mother doesn’t work – why couldn’t she keep that sweet child at home?” the women whispered as I walked by them in the coffee shop. These were my neighbors, people I’d known for years, who now were judging me, and disapproving. They were a pack of wolves, conniving, hungry for my reputation.
There was no time to explain how much I loved my happy baby girl, Heather, and how she loved the beach and the world around her and how she grew without growing. At two she could smile the biggest smile and could run across the room to go play with her brother, but she still couldn’t talk. And this continued.
At thirteen she was beautiful, but her Multiple Sclerosis kept her from life and from me. I was by her side while she struggled daily. She was never able to use the bathroom, eat on her own, dress herself or do anything on her own. Her constant need for attention pulled the life out of me and still her world got smaller and smaller. I tried giving her what she needed but it wasn’t enough.
My husband and I tried for weeks, months, years to find a way to communicate with her. I remember many instances where food would be all over the kitchen, because Heather would get so frustrated that she couldn’t tell us what she needed.
The first time we walked into the center we were struck by the calm. In my home Heather was the only one with special needs, but at the center there were many children with special needs and it was designed to support and nurture these children. In the center they were able to finally break a barrier with Heather that I, her own mother, could not break. They had equipment and expertise that I hadn’t even imagined.
Have we as a community so locked into that a family must stay together under one roof, that we can’t see circumstances where an alternative living situation is better for the child? Do people actually believe that family life is always better if the family lives together in the same house?
I was abruptly woken by my daughter’s screams and I rushed to her room to find her crying on her bed. I tried all our regular routines. I patted her soft curly head of hair, I tenderly caressed her tense back, I gently sang her a lullaby, yet I could clearly see her pain. She kept beating my leg with her palm and yelling, as she rocked violently. I couldn’t help her, but I knew some people who could.
It was a clear crisp day when I drove the three hours to the center with Heather, boxes of her belongings, her favorite stuffed bear, and her favorite quilt. I kissed my daughter goodbye and hugged her to me. And I cried the whole three hours home.
So my neighbors think I’m a bad mom. Maybe I am. Is it better to keep my daughter at home with her mother, or have her at a far away place where she can be happy? For whatever reason, people come up with this idea that a nuclear family is necessary for happiness. Happiness is what we make it.

Life: 10/14/08 | Posted By: iOwn92 | 0 comments | Personal | Tags: life, mother

whoopsie

i dont know how to delete this world but if u like poetry check out my other world

Life: 10/03/08 | Posted By: iOwn92 | 0 comments | Personal | Tags: poems, poetry

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