A few weeks ago, we suffered a devastating blow - the unexpected death of our beloved mother. We knew this day would come someday, but weren't prepared for the void her passing has left in our lives. We also didn't expect that we would gain something from her death - parental perspective.
We have one of our friends, who lost her mother several years ago, to thank for that.
"Gina and Patty," she said. "Your whole lives your mother has prepared you to be on your own. She taught you how to walk, to eat, to love and to parent. Her work is done. You're ready to fly."
In our opinion, we'd never be ready, despite what our ages might have indicated. At 45 and 51 years old, respectively, we still needed our mother. She was the first one we called with good news ("Mom, Random House wants to publish our book!") and the one we turned to when things were tough, particularly when it came to the struggles of our special children. ("Mom! Katie has a form of autism! Her struggles are never gonna go away! I don't know if I can handle this.")
She was always there to listen and to somehow make us feel better ("Things are going to be OK girls. Every parent worries about their children. You just have different worries. I'm here if you need me.")
Sometimes, we were so deep in our own pain that we neglected to see the pain our mother was experiencing.
"Mom, you look tired. Are you OK?"
"I'm fine. It's just that it's hard being a special grandmother. I have to see my daughters and my granddaughters suffer. I feel so helpless."
You see, unlike many grandparents of special needs children, our mother was a huge part of her grandchildren's lives. She was there for all the painful moments, including having to restrain one granddaughter while her mother drove her to a psychiatric hospital and helplessly watching her youngest granddaughter suffer from a deep depression due to a bullying incident at school.
Happily, she was there for all the joys, too. And there were many. In her final months, she watched her bipolar granddaughter give the graduation address at her high school, and saw her granddaughter with social issues give a flawless performance in A Midsummer Night's Dream. And, she died knowing that her grandchild who was bullied was happily settled in a new school that would both protect and understand her.
When she reached age 81, things began to take a toll on her. Our mother, who was always so active and healthy began to slow down and grow weary. Eventually, she was diagnosed with a leaky heart valve. Almost overnight, we switched roles. We became the ones who offered words of comfort, held her when she felt scared or overwhelmed, and assured her that we would always be there for her. She would often tell us how grateful she was for our love and care.
"I don't know what I'd do without you kids," she'd repeatedly say.
"Ma, we had the best role model," we'd tell her.
We were told our mother's heart problem would be cured with surgery. "The success rate is 98%," they told us. Yet, when they wheeled her into the surgery, we couldn't help but think how tired and scared she looked. We felt the way she must have felt when we got hurt for the first time or experienced a setback. We wanted to run after her and hold her. But we couldn't. Instead, we waited until we went up to the Cardiac ICU to greet her, only to learn that she suffered complications in recovery and didn't make it.
We were devastated, but now realize that our mother had done her job. With her advice and actions, she helped prepare us for this day. It made us wonder how well we've prepared our own children, especially our daughters with disbilities. Have we fostered their independence? Have we given them the tools to deal with the disappointments and challenges of life?
Gina realized that she hadn't. Over the years, she's enabled her special needs daughters, often making excuses for why they couldn't complete tasks that were expected of them. Just recently, when she learned her 16-year-old daughter neglected her summer homework, she realized it was time to change.
Normally, Gina would call her daughter's special needs school and explain the situation. "Well, she's had a really difficult summer," she'd say. "Her grandmother was sick and then died unexpectedly. They were very close and she just couldn't focus."
The school may have understood; it was after all, an extraordinarily challenging situation for a child with extraordinary social challenges.
Yet Gina thought about the lesson of her mother and realized that she was doing her daughter a disservice by doing that. Her daughter's dreams of going to college in two years and living on her own would not be realized if Gina made up excuses or did the work for her, as she's done over the years.
Patty, too, is battling with fear of giving her daughter with bipolar disorder independence. Just a few weeks ago, she dropped the same daughter she had to committ to a psychiatric hopsital off to college. Patty couldn't help but wonder, Would she be able to handle the pressure? The academic challenges? Would she make healthy choices? Would she lose her daughter who has fought so hard to get where she is?
At some point, every parent has to let go. And now is the time for us to give our daughters a little more freedom. They've certainly proven their strength by everything they've overcome in their young lives, including the loss of the beloved grandmother who understood them so well. But death is a part of life, and so is pain. And if we want them to be independent they have to live and learn the way we have to.
Yes, mother was right. It's time for us to fly.
Have you been able to give your special child independence?
