Mary and Stephen

(Photo by Keith Beaty of the Toronto Star)

As a mother, I dream of all my children finding that special someone with whom to share their lives. And, I think most of them will given what special people they are (yes, yes I know – I am a tad prejudiced). But I do think that search will be more difficult for my sweet Ashley.

Deafblindness is a disability of exclusion. It’s difficult for a person with deafblindness to reach out to others, especially when those others don’t understand the complexities of the disability.

So I was especially heartened when I read this story in the Toronto Star.

Mary and Stephen have been married for 32 years. Stephen is 66 years old and his wife, Mary is 67 years old. They are both deafblind. They attended school together as children, but then life took them down separate paths. However, in a story ripe for the movies, they reconnected many years later and quickly got married.

They both speak (through intervenors) of how much they enjoy their life. Stephen even, much to Mary’s embarrassement, says “The sex is good!” And now they are looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together.

That is what I want for my Ashley.

Mary and Stephen’s only reqret? They can’t have children. Mary’s mother had her sterilized when she was a young woman.

Ashley also loves children. So I will add to my dreams for her that she will one day be a mother. I can picture it in my mind, and it is a beautiful picture indeed.

Liquid Strength

Tears of joy.

I wanted to be strong and persuasive. I wanted to stand tall, surrounded by my children, convincing all present that I was indeed the best choice.

I wanted my skills, my achievements, my committment and dedication to shine forth.

But all that came were tears of joy - as always happens when I talk about my children and how blessed I feel.

Then the judge cried with me and a new family was born.

Perhaps my strength has always been in those tears.

Merry Christmas To All

Today starts our 'unplugged' holiday, but before leaving for a week, I wanted to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas. I hope your holidays are full of joy and love. My year has been enriched greatly by each and every one of you!

Do NOT Pity Me

Following our normal post-Thanksgiving tradition, the kids and I headed out pretty early last Friday for some Black Friday shopping. I love finding deals, but I also love the experience of moving along with a crazed crowd searching for an item that you know will cost less after the first of the year.

I wrote last year about our Black Friday experience and the problems we had navigating some stores with a wheelchair. It was interesting to me that this year things were a little easier. I wonder if all those store managers read my blog?

Since the navigating part of our Black Friday experience was easier this year, I was able to spend sometime people-watching. I saw lots of different ‘looks’ on the shopper’s faces – worry, excitement, the thrill of the hunt – but I also saw something that bothered me. I saw pity and sadness whenever a shopper would look at me pushing Ashley through the store.

Over the years, I have learned to deal with people feeling sorry for Ashley. I usually scoff a bit and enlighten them on some of Ashley’s antics. I share how she is much more like her peers than different, and it usually works. People would walk away with a good bit of the pity look wiped off their face. But this time the pity seemed directed at me.

It hit me pretty hard. Do people feel sorry for me that I have a daughter in a wheelchair? Do they believe my life is less than good because of that? Do they think I have regrets and dream about the child Ashley could have been had her birthmother not been an alcoholic?

I wish all those people with their pitying looks could read this blog. I wish they could understand that my life is complete, not unfulfilled, because I have a child with a significant disability. I wish they could spend a day with us and see that we are a joyful and more typical family than they think. I wish I could tell them that I am happier then I ever dreamed possible BECAUSE I have a child with a disability.

Here’s hoping some of them will read this blog, and will then understand.

Today I am thankful that Ashley's birthmother agreed to place her for adoption

Social Services - Part 2

I left the social services office with a very heavy heart. I knew from my years as a police officer that a lot, a whole lot, of bad stuff happens to children. In fact, seeing so much of that was one of the reasons I decided police work could not be a career for me. But seeing it again at the social services office had no less of an impact than when I was an officer.

During the meeting with Corey’s social worker, she told me that the health department, just two buildings away, might have H1N1 shots available. My children have appointments this coming Monday for their shots, but I have not been able to find one yet. So, I decided to give the health department a try.

As I approached the building, I noticed a father and his twenty-something daughter also heading into the building. The daughter had some obvious physical disabilities – I would guess cerebral palsy – but she was able to walk, albeit very slowly and carefully, next to her father. The almost vacant, innocent look in her eyes and the expression on her face led me to believe that she also had cognitive impairments.

They entered the building ahead of me, and once greeted by the receptionist (and I use the term greeted very loosely), the father said, “My daughter, Louella, needs a flu shot.” The receptionist said, “We are only giving flu shots to pregnant women. Is she pregnant?” Louella’s father said, “If I say yes, can she get the shot?” The receptionist said, “Like I said, we are only giving shots to pregnant women.” Louella’s father said, “Well then, she’s pregnant.”

Louella seemed to find this exchange quite funny, and when she looked at her father and grinned, the room seemed to light up like the sun bursting forth after a week of rain. Her father returned her gaze and the love in his eyes seemed to say, “Don’t worry Baby Girl – Daddy will take care of you.”

The nurse was called to administer the shot. Louella stood very still and strong while her father wrapped his arm around her waist. He thanked the nurse when she was done, and I swear, if he had a hat on, he would have tipped it.

Louella’s father offered her his arm. She linked hers in his and they left the building. I knew I wasn’t going to get a shot that day, so I left after them. As they were walking back to their car, Louella’s father said, “I love you, Lou.” She looked at him and I knew he understood that she was communicating similar feelings.

As they pulled away in their car, I noticed their license plate. It read, “ILOVELOU”.

Today I am thankful that when my heart is heavy, God chooses to lighten it with a very special message.