It isn't long, of course. In fact, it is the shortest month of the year, but while I adore Valentine's Day, February is always a tough month for me. You know how people talk about those pivotal moments in their lives...their misbegotten youths....the fork in the road of life? February, 1975, was that for me.
It's a long story, not short at all, and not pretty in the telling so I'll go with the condensed version. I was 17, newly married (That's how it happened, back then. If you got yourself knocked up there weren't a lot of options.), and about to give birth. The birth itself wasn't much to talk about. I was not prepared and it remains a bit of a blur. The baby, a girl, seemed fine...for awhile. Then she got sick, really, really sick and I became an adult in the blink of an eye.
The illness, and several resuscitations, did a momentous amount of damage. Epilepsy, cerebral palsy, developmental delays. She began to have several different kinds of seizures at about 5 months. By one year we knew that what had begun badly had gotten so much worse. The neurologist (whom I shall never forget, but can now forgive) told us, myself and the baby's 19 year old father, to find a good home for her and move on with our lives. At the time I remember being insanely angry for such a suggestion. Now, I understand. I did not take his advice. Several months later that poor young father took us home to my parents, walked away and did not look back. At least someone was paying attention.
A lot of time and emotion followed that small abandonment. I did the best I could with what I had available to me and I learned quickly to make it up as I went along. Life is not particularly kind to a divorced mother of a seriously handicapped child, but there is wisdom to be gleaned. I can tell you with complete certainty that "God only gives you what you can handle" and "He only gives the special children to special people" are complete and total bullsh*t. Adversity at that level is not gifted or earned, it simply is.
She lived with me until she was ten and then the decision for placement was made. Today is her 35th birthday and she still lives in a branch of that original facility. I have very little contact with her, which was my decision and my own burden to carry. Again, it simply is what it is.
I tell you this story today because the date is appropriate and when you spend your whole life walking (or being pushed in your wheelchair) up hill your story should occasionally be told.
Happy Birthday, Jessica. If anyone deserves some happy, it sure as the world is you.
Wow Holly. I did not know this story, how heart-renching every minute and every decision must have been.
Posted by: Nancy Adams | February 23, 2010 at 09:27 PM
Love and pink light to you, Jessica and all that care about each of you.
Posted by: PainterWoman | February 24, 2010 at 02:30 AM
Oh my goodness, Holly. I have fallen out of daily contact with the blogiverse due to crazy busy. But this is an intense admission of a trial I cannot fathom.
You are such a strong woman. It never ceases to amaze me, the multitudes contained in each of us. Thank you for sharing this.
Posted by: francypants | March 14, 2010 at 12:55 PM