Growing Up & Away

Well, she’s 26 ½ and OD is finally moving out. It’s not the way I dreamed it would be, her finding a little place, me helping her shop for appliances, dishes, towels, etc. She’s going out with a bang – or maybe not. You see, she hasn’t spoken to me, except in response to direct questions, since October. She comes and goes silently and when she’s here, she hides out in her room. She’s angry – at me, at the world, at life. But since she can’t take her anger out on “the world” she aims all of it at me and her sister. We are the lense through which she focuses her perceptions about what is wrong with her life.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I just can’t summon up the emotions that seem to be warranted here. I’m not angry or sad. I love her and will miss having her around, but I’m coveting the master bedroom she’s had since we moved into this house 2 ½ years ago. In all the years of being a parent, I’ve never had the master bedroom, wanting my daughters to have the bigger rooms. I’ll finally be able to set up my craft tables and have a space to work on my sewing projects. When she takes her three cats and one 75-pound dog, my house will stay cleaner. And my pet food bill will drop to whatever it costs to feed my 10-pound Chihuahua.

I pray that some time apart will help her to refocus her life and give her the maturity to see that her problems aren’t my fault or YD’s. I’m certainly not a perfect parent, and there are many things I wish I’d done differently. But if love counts for anything, then I’ve loved my daughters with all my heart since the day I first knew they were growing inside me.

OD, I wish you the best that life has to offer and will be praying for you. If you need anything, you just have to ask. Love, Mom

Circle of Life

My special needs daughter is now almost twenty years old. By this time in my life, I had been driving for four years, I had a full-time job, I was living in my own apartment and just generally getting on with a pretty good life. My daughter, being a little behind the curve, still struggles with more basic details. I have learned to celebrate the small victories, like when she dyed her hair jet black in the women’s restroom at the mall, I rejoiced it wasn’t purple. Last summer, she went to the fair with some friends. I strongly recommended she give her debit card to me, in exchange for some cash. This was my attempt to limit the potential damage to her bank account. To my surprise, she agreed. Another small victory.

Later in the day, we exchanged some philosophical text messages about the dilemmas and difficult choices presented by such limited funds. At one point, I texted, “welcome to adulthood.” My daughter texted back the equivalent of a raspberry.

I flashed back to a moment in my teenaged years when I realized I was growing up, against my will. I had been a tomboy. My favorite toys were Hot Wheels and a pitch-back. I hung out with my dad, going fishing with him and his buddies, and yes, I baited my own hook and cast my own line. I puttered around the garage with him. When he decided to build a HeathKit television, I read ahead in the instructions and lined up the little circuits and transistors. (This was exquisite fun!) My favorite photo from childhood shows my dad holding a little horny toad he found in the backyard, and my three-year-old self is right in there checking this guy out while my (older) sister is cowering in the background.

We went fishing a lot. The moment I’m remembering must have been after I hit sixteen, because prior to that age I didn’t need a license. (I know I had one because I remember the bait and tackle shop clerk asking me my weight and I didn’t want to tell him.) This awful moment came one day when my dad asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him, and I said, “no.” I didn’t know why I didn’t want to go, but after he left I cried. I’m not sure I ever went fishing again. Looking back at that moment, I was afraid, knowing I was supposed to start letting go, but not understanding how that was going to be a good thing. It was soon to be “my turn,” and I wanted to pass, thank you very much.

There have been some bumps in the road as I’ve moved on, times I’ve reached for my folks, needing support of one kind or other. They had equipped me with a great toolkit, and sometimes their support was simply to remind me of that. I pray, but frequently doubt, that I am similarly preparing my daughter.

Raising a special needs child has been challenging. Occasionally I need a mini mental vacation, and I dream of spinning reels and pencil clams, dirty hands and horny toads. I wonder what memories will comfort my daughter as her life’s journey continues…