It’s time I stop treating Jordan like she’s a walking brain injury and like she’s gonna die any minute now. There. Happy now? I said it.
Yes, I drove her to the babysitter’s who shook her into a three-day coma. Yes, I still feel responsible for the resultant stroke that compromised her short-term memory, curved her spine and stunted her physical and mental growth. I’ve coddled her, over-protected her and sheltered her for her entire life. No more.
I will continue to provide her with academic support—therapy, tutors and whatnot—frontal lobe brain damage is ignored at personal peril. Of course I will understand when she loses stuff: neither one of my hemispheres is swimming permanently in fluid, yet I can’t keep up with my things to save my life. She can’t retrace her steps, and it takes time to move tasks from short-term to long-term memory. I get that, and I keep my frustration to a minimum, even if it means replacing lost electronics over and over. Music is therapy. I won’t let her go one day without hearing it.
Was that another excuse? Maybe. Not all excuses are bullshit, you know.
Most of you know Jordan runs the household. She struggled to relinquish that power while Q was here, and she has again taken over. She keeps our schedules, takes care of her brothers and her ditzy, half-depressed mother and rebels against the norm like most teenagers. I’d like for her OCD regular bath time to return, but I guess if no one enforces it, she puts herself on intermittent soapy-ness. I’ve apparently passed on the stinky kid gene, but I digress.
She has started thinking for herself, being more vocal and becoming more independent from me. I repeat ’til I’m blue to everyone who knows me : she is delayed, not retarded. Delayed, not retarded. Delayed, not retarded. She should eventually be able to live on her own [no!!!!] and make her own decisions [is this hamburger meat good or bad?]. I have two sons who should keep one eye out for her if she needs them. I have to do a better job of preparing her for life without me, even if she thinks that life will begin after high school.
Hold me.
Please oh please Erica, write a book about this. The world needs your book. Please!
Michele, I have no idea where or how to start. It would be like A Million Little Pieces all over again!
Maybe you can email me a few suggestions?
They all grow up in the end.
- Orion
PS — Your last entry about her new and improved Christmas gift wish list was funny but now I feel sorta like an ass for laughing about the lost music player after only 12 hours.
The devil’s always in the details.
.-= Orion´s last blog: Waiting at Gate B =-.
No worries about finding the story funny. She’s a teenager before all else. They lose stuff. The 12-hour incident? She was 11 and too young to own it. My fault and I have learned better techniques to help her keep up with her things.
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