there are miracles in life I must achieve
When Jordan was first injured, I searched for reason in every corner of my life, of God’s promises, in every insignificance I could find. I said very often to my sister that if it were Jordan’s destiny to be nearly fatally injured by her babysitter and to live with permanent brain injury, then I was glad God chose me to take care of her because some mothers would abandon their newly imperfect babies to the oh well Dumpster.
Which is kinda like half bullshit, I figured out a few years later. Babies don’t get assigned like high school electives, based on availability, prerequisites and academic ability. Sperm meets egg and there you have it: baby. To do what it do. And if you drive baby to a babysitter who then shakes her into a three-day coma and a stroke, you’re less chosen by God than you are a victim of poor and unfortunate circumstance.
I really feel until recently I’ve been a fairly shitty mother to my daughter. Back in the day, in my chosen by God days, I thought I was really doing something. Taking care of her and getting her to therapy and all. But I never thought she was capable of being a real person, and I covered that belief in the guise of over-protectiveness. I barely listened to her, I didn’t give her a chance to think and express how she was feeling. I dismissed her because she was taking too long to get whatever she was trying to say off her brain.
When Jon Alex was born, I told a friend that this was my shot to show I could do it right. My friend Jason dismissed that statement, as he should have, and told me Jon Alex was no redemption for Jordan. They were two separate children, and one was not a make-up for the other.
The things that Jon Alex could do, though. I had no idea kids could help undress themselves at one year old or could learn to talk without months of speech therapy or could have an opinion without prompting or a single leading question. There were people in my life who, in disdain, noticed how differently I treated those two kids and, defensively, I’d say yeah, because they are two different people. But I was not truthful with myself. Jon Alex answered questions and understood concepts like his sister never could. I dismissed her because she was nothing like me. Nothing like I’d ever expected or wanted.
Her tussles with Q notwithstanding (I dismissed most of those as Jordan being an emotionally turbulent teen and Q being unprepared for such adolescent reactions), I never saw Jordan as a capable human being until Ehren was born nearly 15 years after her brain injury. Partly from necessity and her wanting to care for her mother as well as she can, Jordan is Ehren’s 50-50 caretaker. It’s like I am the stay-at-home mother and she is the bacon-winning husband who comes in the door after a long day at work and gets a baby flung at her. She supervises Jon Alex and walks the dog and makes sure I have eaten something on the day. In 10 months, she has learned to change diapers, keep a feeding schedule, manage an eight-year-old and figure out the dinner menu (I remain the family chef, following orders and buying groceries). There are some days she doesn’t wanna be bothered, but has to be because our lives don’t stop with a bad day at school.
When Ehren was three days old, Jordan asked me nervously if the baby was going to be special needs like she was, and that broke my heart. How could I tell her I was far more careful with her brothers than I was with her, and I was willing to sacrifice money and salary to make sure I was their primary caretaker instead of a near-stranger? She blames the babysitter for her difficulties, and how long will it be before she figures out I was at work earning overtime when I should have been home with her instead?
Jordan starts high school next year, and I am caught inside the if-onlys more than ever. Would she have been in eleventh grade on her way to her senior year by now if only? Would she be at the mall with her friends instead of sitting on the couch with me watching the God-awful TV One if only? Would she still be a fan of God-awfuller Fantasia Barrino if only?
Ehren’s birth has given me a better opportunity to see Jordan than I was taking before—a capable Jordan, a structured Jordan, a loving Jordan to two knuckleheads and their knuckleheaded mother. I do take some credit for teaching her the broader strokes of life, but the rest, as do most children, she learned on her own. I’m better now at seeing her as a complete person and not simply as a walking brain injury wearing a bag of what-ifs on her back. Even if I no longer see myself as the “chosen one” for her care, I am very grateful for the opportunity. I do love her more than pockets, and I hope she’s always known that, even in my doubts and missteps.
To make me feel better, your own fucked up parenting or relationships in comments. It’s that kind of day…
I don’t have kids and I have been a pretty crappy aunt. I think this is a very brave post and you probably have done a better job parenting than you are giving yourself credit for.
Hell, I don’t have an injury and my mom treats me as if she doesn’t think I am “capable of being a real person!”
((HUGS))
Since I’m pretty new around here I did not know Jordan’s story. Wow, what you must have gone through-and still do, I’m sure. If she is taking on those responsibilities she is obviously capable. Sounds like she’s going to do great in hs! You have given her wings, Mama. Let her fly, and continue to be her safe spot to land. It’ll be ok!
I hope you give yourself credit for all you have navigated as a mom. How many of us could have handled what was tossed at you? And really, trying to earn overtime is no crime. Not in the least. Earning $$ cares for your kids. Please remember, there is only one person to blame for Jordan’s injury, and that would be that dreadful ‘babysitter.’
And quite wonderful to hear how Enren’s birth has allowed you to see Jordan in a different way. Some moms never would have pulled that off.
I needed to write it all out. This healing process is a long one and could never end. Thanks for reading, some of you for the first time, others for what seems like the millionth. I will always need your encouragement and support.
Wow E. you are being really hard on yourself. Wearing the skirt doesn’t make the rape your fault. And most definitely, going to work to support your family does not make this your fault. Even in part. The mommy-guilt well is very, very deep and very addictive. We all drink from it far more than we need to.
love you, E.
@Kelly, what a dramatic analogy, the rape thing. I see your encouraging point. Thanks for the reminder.
I can’t tell you to not feel guilty, to not feel what you’re feeling. You have lived your life and with your child, not me. But I can tell you as someone who will I think always carry an assload of guilt that I am glad you’re writing it out and getting through it. If I knew the password to get completely over the guilt and mis-steps I would drive to Texas to give them to you personally but until such time: Keep on getting through so you don’t stay stuck in it where I so fucking often find myself. Not just over Jackson although clearly that is the main source but the kids we’re raising now, oy fucking vey with the guilt every single day.
Gaaaaaaaaah I need to drink more or write more and I will let you guess which one I will choose.
@charmingbitch, the writing certainly helps. You keep doing what you’re doing, too, Shan. We’ll get through it.