Disability Advocacy Archives | A Million Beautiful Pieces

A Million Beautiful Pieces October 5, 2022

Self-Talk, Apologies and Presuming Competence – World Cerebral Palsy Day

October 6th is World Cerebral Palsy Day. In honour of this day, I had to share this and am doing so with Savannah’s permission. It’s my proudest parenting moment and I need to shout it to other families who think their children don’t understand or assume they will never learn.

Savannah was changing into her swimming costume and when she gets to a certain point, she calls me to help her to finish dressing. So she called and I went to find her not dressed but distraught. Her costume was entangled in the pedal of the wheelchair, and both were lying on her lap. In her efforts to free the costume, she had yanked it off with the pedal.

She turned to me, still distraught and said this: “Me stupid. I say bad word. I’m sorry mum.” I ask her, who did you say was stupid so I could get clarity of her meaning, and not make my own assumptions. She replies: “Myself. I’m sorry mum. No say bad words about me.”

Savannah thought she broke the wheelchair and called herself “stupid”. Then apologised to me and herself. She was apologising because ever since Savannah was very little before I even knew she understood me, I repeatedly told her:

No one is allowed to hit her,
No one is allowed to be rude to her (with details),
No one is allowed to enter her bedroom or the bathroom without both my and her permission, and lastly
No one is allowed to call her bad words. Yes, I taught her what those words were to the best of my knowledge.

Now, here before me was this very same child of mine. As a twenty-six-year-old ‘autistic person with cerebral palsy and other stuff’ as she likes to be defined, apologising that she had used a “bad word” about herself. I was so surprised and happy that I actually did a little dance jig. Of course, I then affirmed that yes we all have things we can’t do and that Savannah is correct that it doesn’t make her stupid. I told her in my best Cat in the Hat impersonation which is something she loves me to do: “Savannah you are the truest of true humans I know. And I’m a prouder than proud of all the mamas because we glow.” Then we both laughed.

If you’ve heard me speak about disability and acceptance, you’ve heard me talk about presuming competency. You’ve also heard me asking my audiences,” Are you prepared for the day our children tell their stories?” What will they say about how we treated them and what we taught them?

This story of Savannah’s self-talking demonstrates too how so many of us think the worst of ourselves – we often don’t need to be taught that. We set unrealistic expectations and then beat ourselves up when we can’t achieve those expectations.

I hope like Savannah we also apologise to ourselves when we say or think “bad words” of ourselves, and then ask someone to help us. Teaching children that we all deserve dignity and respect is so important, but modelling that in everyday life is how we do it.

Also here is my truth –

I have used ‘bad words’ on myself “Darn, that was so ‘bad word’ of me, ” as well as on others, “How could she/he/you be so ‘bad word?” BUT, I’ve tried to apologise especially when my children were in the room because I wanted to set a good example, though I’ve never apologised to myself. Thanks to Savannah, now I know better and will apologise to myself too!

October is Mental Health Awareness Month. For support join the growing community at JoinPanda.
October is World AAC Awareness Month.
6 October is Word Cerebral Awareness Day.
For support as a parent to a child with disabilities visit our community at Parent Reality

A Million Beautiful Pieces December 7, 2021

Are you okay?

I do not want this December to be like the last one.
I do not want to talk about vitamins, vaccines, and the virus.
I do not want to worry. Worry about the people I love, the people I know, everyone in my life.
I do not want to pretend to be happy, and I do not want to live in sad.
I do not want to make plans and have them turn to sand.
I do not want to dig any deeper to find joy.
I am not okay.

I have been here before.
I have had these feelings before. The reasons were different.
I know I have been here before.

I planned and packed for the holidays. In ways, my friends could not understand.
I unpack. I set the room. Her own duvet turns it into her own bedroom.
I remembered the spare headphones. I remembered the plastic stim toy. I bought the must-have foods.
I re-organised most of the furniture. The wheelchair must get through.
I arranged the activities in advance and prepared everyone.
I knew where the nearest hospital was, and I packed the medical reports. Just in case.
I cooked. I served. I entertained.

I did well.
I got to it all.
I think it will be okay.

I forgot to pack my food (I don’t eat meat), my book and well a couple things that make me…me.
It will be okay.

I wake. I listen. She calls. I go. I calm fears I do not understand.
I go back to bed. I sleep.
I wake. He coughs. He quiets. He coughs. He reaches for his asthma pump. I hold him.
I feel the morning. I tip-toe out of the room. I set up for the day ahead.
I see them, my younger children, racing on the shoreline. My heart swells because they are mine.
I smile. I wave. They enjoy the beach.
I sit here. I hold her hand. The sand and the wind: too much for her.

I'll go to the shore tomorrow.
I'll go and dip my toes.
It will be quick. I’ll be back. They will need me again.

See,
I've felt this before. I felt all this, and I felt nothing, all in one go. But then
I learnt that all and nothing can work themselves out, when
I dared to stop and ask them, what are they all about?
I heard them say: we are trying to let you know it’s okay to not be okay.
I asked in a shaky voice: what is the way to being, “not okay”, as you say?
I heard them soothingly whisper: Come into the day quietly and softly before they all awake.
We will teach you what it means to not be okay.

I woke without the alarm. I started to write.
I wrote to God. I wrote to my heart. I wrote for all the ones like me.
I find sometimes, I bake. Sometimes I sing. Sometimes, I just sit and think.

I come into the day quietly and softly. I marvel at how much I pack into that short space of time, that makes me…me.
I'm okay not being okay. Are you? - Desirae Pillay 2021

Desirae has three children: Savannah (25 years), Talisa (19years) and Eli Michael (13 years). Savannah was born when Desirae was eighteen years old and she was a single mother for a time before marrying Michael. Savannah is autistic and is a person with cerebral palsy. Michael and Desirae care for Savannah as she cannot live independently. Desirae worked as an Assistive Technology Advisor in the disability sector, served in the autism community, and is now employed in the child safety sector. She writes for the purpose of sharing different perspectives and to encourage a thinking line around being kinder and more considerate of other people’s experiences in the areas of parenting, childhood trauma and disability. She writes because she knows that Faith, Hope and Love abide.

A Million Beautiful Pieces October 30, 2021

7 Tips for parents in the trenches – parenting children with special needs in the holiday season

The Christmas season is rolling around again and in less than a few weeks schools will close for the summer holidays, families will be finalising travel plans or everyone will finally agree that turkey does not have to be on the menu.

Many families are looking forward to the festivities, and yet there is a marginalised group who love and hate this season. For parents of children with challenges, this time of year can be a stark reminder that they are parenting from the trenches.

When the holiday season is not full of cheer, we learn to parent from the trenches

This is me working as a motivational speaker. I was the keynote speaker for this event. I returned home and helped Savannah to bathe, and then took her to spend time with her friend. Learning to balance is key for so many parents like me.

When Savannah was in school, this time of year was incredibly difficult for me. The end of the school year was also the end of the routines that sometimes held families like mine in careful balance. Many children with special needs, do not always enjoy the holiday hustle and bustle. This makes for a time of year that is challenging for families.

Parents have to go it alone when caregivers go on leave or when support from family and friends becomes scarce. For families like us, we do not simply “go on holiday or join the big family lunch”. What is fun for the rest of society can be stressful for the family with a child with special needs.

During the intense years of my mothering journey, I juggled being Savannah’s caregiver (she is twenty-seven years old now) while also raising two neurotypical children Talisa (now twenty-one) and Eli (now sixteen) without consistent help, and during some of the most emotionally and mentally painful times of my life. I learned a great deal about resilience and grace. Today as somewhat of a professional parent, I know what it takes to parent from the trenches. Especially during the Christmas season.

These are some tips that worked for my family:

1.) Prepare everyone in your family for the changes in routines. Talk together about what those changes mean for each of you. Start speaking about it now and include your child with challenges in the conversation. Use age-appropriate language to explain what events will be coming up or what he/she can expect in the next week or so. Regularly talk about the plans.

To support your conversations you can use visual schedules and social stories to give a graphic meaning to what you are saying. This is especially helpful for children who have little or no functional speech or who are non-speaking.

2.) Plan for the holiday season even if you are going to be home. If you do not have a day-by-day plan, aim to have a general plan for who you will be seeing and who will be involved from your home. Many people become overwhelmed by feeling pressured by other people’s holiday agendas. If you have your plan set out first, you will already know what is realistic for your family to be part of.

3.) Do not commit to catering or providing a meal unless you are absolutely sure you can. If you know you won’t have time, rather ask the host if you can contribute financially or offer to buy something.

If you know that your child will cope better in their own home, then offer to host a party at your place. This works especially when you are the mum whose child needs a full-time carer, and you still enjoy throwing parties. Take note of who you invite though. I find that the best guests are the ones who help out and who don’t stand on ceremony. They are usually the kind of people who will also care for Savannah during the evening.

4.) If you are hosting a party, make sure your child knows who is coming. It is also acceptable if your child does not want to join the festivities. If it is not their sprinkle of magic, it is not their sprinkle of magic. It is also perfectly fine to decline invitations when you feel it will upset your own emotional or mental balance.

You have to parent in ways most other parents won’t understand. Saying no is a “Superpower” you want to have.

Desirae Pillay

5.) Please ask for HELP. Do not try to do it all. Shopping, cooking, and keeping everyone happy and entertained, can be overwhelming for many families and no one expects you to do it all and still be the life of the party.

I had to learn how to ask for help because somehow I believed that I had to do everything on my own. I think it was partly due to my gender and my culture and being a parent to a child with special needs. I felt bad about asking for more support. But I had to learn to ask for help because “mommy-ing” was hard even with my husband and my mother’s support.

These next tips are to help family and friends who want to be helpful to a family with a child with a disability:

6.) Please consider gifting a frozen meal. Many families do not always sit down to a warm, hearty meal when they are in the throes of meltdowns or tending to a sick child. A meal that can be heated on the days when they are just too tired to make dinner is honestly one of the best gifts to give a family who are caregivers all day and all night. Some families are on special diets, but what a treat and act of LOVE if you did take the time to provide the food they can eat.

7.) Finally, when a person uses a wheelchair, it is more challenging to get around busy spaces. It is helpful when people are considerate of that. If your invite is declined on those grounds, it only means that being able to move independently and sit comfortably for someone in a wheelchair is a big deal. A family like mine would rather not attend because we know we won’t enjoy the time if our child is uncomfortable. It does not make anyone a bad friend. It just means we can look at ways together to socialise where everyone is comfortable.

The greatest gift of all is – To Not Be Judged

If we seem tired or frustrated at times because of the high-demand lifestyle we live, please do not judge us. All day and every day, we are living between your world and our child’s world; constantly explaining your world to them, and their world to you. Yet we as carers fit in neither group. Still, we do it anyway because we love our children just as much as you love yours. Being able to care for them and celebrate with them is a gift many parents like me do not take for granted. We will do anything to keep it that way for as long as we can.

This Christmas please consider families like mine in your community and be to them what you would have them be to you if it was your child who needed what our children need: Faith, Hope, and Love.

Desirae has three children: Savannah (27 years), Talisa (21years) and Eli Michael (16 years). Savannah was born when Desirae was eighteen years old and she was a single mother for a time before marrying Michael. Savannah is autistic and is a person with cerebral palsy. Michael and Desirae care for Savannah as she cannot live independently. Desirae worked as an Assistive Technology Advisor in the disability sector, served in the autism community, and is now employed in the child safety sector. She writes for the purpose of sharing different perspectives and to encourage a thinking line around being kinder and more considerate of other people’s experiences in the areas of parenting, childhood trauma and disability. She writes because she knows that Faith, Hope and Love abide.

A Million Beautiful Pieces October 21, 2021

Dream a new dream

This post is dedicated to parents who put aside their dreams, have taken the knocks and wake up every day to pour faith, hope and love into the world. I see you.

October marks Mental Health Day, Cerebral Palsy Day and Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) month (this is for people who use other ways of communication than talking because they have limited or no functional speech or are non-speaking). This month is also Down Syndrome Awareness, Breast Cancer Month and many more awareness days.

The first three awareness topics are a big part of the fabric of my life.

The dream I hoped would become my reality

When Savannah was seven years old (she was already diagnosed with cerebral palsy but was not yet diagnosed as autistic), I was hailed as somewhat of a “SuperHero” mum. I learnt how to help Savannah to communicate. As a toddler, she could make three sounds which we understood to have specific meanings. She also used some signs and gestures to communicate specific needs. Now mind you this was all-pre-social media and with no access to the internet, so everything learnt was from therapists and good old fashioned intuition.

From there we used special software to teach Savannah to use pictures to communicate. Then she began saying some words, then some phrases and now prefers to communicate mostly by speaking. She is still not always easily understood and uses various methods to make herself understood.

Because of this feat in teaching Savannah to communicate, I had a career in that sector. I loved learning and teaching and training people who needed to use AAC, their families, schools, and other professionals.

Like many mothers before me and no doubt even now, I learnt on the job so to speak, and concurrently immersed myself in helping others. I knew what helplessness felt like, and I loved that eventually, I was able to help my child. How could I possibly not help anyone else’

Letting go of the dream

One day I was sitting in a training about a communication strategy, and everyone in the room was so enamoured with the technique. I was too, except I felt equally ill watching the videos. In all the videos, the person who everything depended on to implement was usually the primary caregiver and most times that was the mother. For years, I was everything to Savannah while also filling all the other roles I had. The best description was:

“I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread”
J.R.R Tolkien – The Fellowship of the Rings.

The question I was trying to avoid went off like alarm sirens in my head: When will they (anyone who was bold enough to think they should speak on this point) stop telling us as mothers and fathers that we need to care for ourselves while we do the Superhuman task of staying employed while being available as a nurse, teacher, therapist, parent, cheerleader, cook, bather, cleaner, and friend to our child? While the scope of the needs within each of these titles kept changing.

I also knew without a doubt that being a “Super” anything meant very little when one can’t meet all the needs that a person with a disability has. Those needs don’t diminish over time. They became bigger needs like suitable housing, a suitable vehicle, access to services for adults, long drives to specialists, the ability to keep doing the same thing over and over for years and the strength to keep fighting for access and inclusion.

The skills I acquired in a specialist field, became a source of pain because the fact is that only a degree would have made a real difference to me. It did not matter how much experience I had or what force of passion drove my acquisition of that skill. Earning that degree would come at a huge cost in many ways, and with so little of myself left to spread, I had to let that dream go.

I felt I had let Savannah down. I gave myself to something that was not going to help me care for her well enough for the long run. I felt stupid for not pursuing a career in a sector with more options to increase my earning potential. I failed my family. I stopped trusting myself.

Dreaming a new dream

There is a line in a song:

“The very thing I love is killing me and I can’t conquer it”.
Monster under my bed song by Eminen and Rihanna

I used to sing that all the time because I loved my daughter. I loved what I did for a living. But I also knew it was never going to be sustainable to keep going in a field where the academic qualification mattered. Now I am here, forty-three years old, with a wealth of knowledge and experience that I can’t be credited for.

So I dreamed a new dream. I am incredibly blessed to have a paid job. It has little to do with my dream job so, in my own time, I still serve other families and professionals when I have the capacity to do so. I don’t know everything, but I know some things that make a valuable difference to others. My life has more flexibility and allows me to take better care of my family.

Have I found my dream life?

Yes and No. In the Book of Philippians Paul writes, “I know how to be content whatever the circumstances”. There are parts of my life now that I jump out of bed for and there are parts that I have to drag myself to do because it is the only option before me. I know the value of grit and grace.

In this country, access to support, skills, and empowering parents to be the best they can be to their children and to do that in a way that gives dignity to both the parents and the child is few and far between.

When it does exist, it is usually because a parent is making it happen for themselves and others. Far too often something has got to give. Usually, it is the parent’s mental health. Usually, no one notices until it is too late, and a life-changing event happens. A chronic or terminal illness, addiction, divorce, depression, or even worse abuse and even suicide. I have seen so many families fall apart, and I know that it has only by grace I have not yet fallen too far down the rabbit hole.

This October we have many issues on the calendar to be aware of. Mental Health is always a top priority for me. When we don’t have easy and low-cost access to support for parents and especially for those of us who have to be long-term caregivers, it is a feat to build and maintain the life we want. It all begins and ends with how realistic we are of how much a person can cope with, acknowledging that not everyone has the same capacity and that we should not be penalised for that. I sincerely hope that this post will in the least inspire you to:

Make spaces for parents who are trying desperately to find some meaning in their child’s diagnosis and are doing that by giving of themselves. Provide opportunity and friendship. Both are needed in equal amounts.
Remind yourself of when your child was a baby, and how hard those early days were. Now imagine doing that for the rest of your life while pursuing a career. That is long term caregiving. Give those caregivers a little grace.
When a parent changes course and tries something new at thirty years old, forty years old, fifty even sixty, it doesn’t mean they have failed. It only shows that they are willing to keep trying to add value to their lives, their family and maybe in some way even to the world. Be supportive.
Lastly, there is no such thing as fair in life. So when a parent doing double duty needs extra leave or gets that promotion, it’s not unfair. It is life, and sadly if life was fair, there would be more help for parents who are long-term caregivers.
Please be kind. It costs nothing.

Finally, to the mama bears who I have the privilege of being a pillar to, Khalil Gibran said

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

I am holding space for you as other women have held for me. You are not alone. In your own way, by your own standards, you can begin again and dream a new dream. It may surprise you and be a little more delightful than the ones you dreamed of before.

For Professional Help, please call

Lifeline: 0861 322 322
South African Depression and Anxiety Group: 0800 567 567
or contact a counselling service in your area.

Desirae has three children: Savannah (25 years), Talisa (19years) and Eli Michael (13 years). Savannah was born when Desirae was eighteen years old and she was a single mother for a time before marrying Michael. Savannah is autistic and is a person with cerebral palsy. Michael and Desirae care for Savannah as she cannot live independently. Desirae worked as an Assistive Technology Advisor in the disability sector, served in the autism community, and is now employed in the child safety sector. She writes for the purpose of sharing different perspectives and to encourage a thinking line around being kinder and more considerate of other people’s experiences in the areas of parenting, childhood trauma and disability. She writes because she knows that Faith, Hope and Love abide.

A Million Beautiful Pieces July 19, 2020

Are all children a blessing or are only children with a disability a blessing?

I am asking this question for myself and on behalf of other parents to children with a disability: Are all children a blessing or are only children with a disability a blessing? Often when people learn that I have a child with a disability they reply with “she must be a blessing”. Well, all children are a blessing.

And, they contradict the above and confuse me when expecting a baby either by pregnancy or adoption and say: “as long as the baby is healthy and please God has no challenges”. Doesn’t everyone want a blessing?

For years I have had to bear up against ignorance, unkindness and the veiled arrogance that accompanies a belief that another parent must be better than me because their lives are not touched by disability. Too often people repeat socially acceptable phrases about their wish for an unborn baby without thinking about who is listening to them. They babble themselves into a verbal quandary and then when they realise a parent like myself is part of their audience, we are stuck with having to process the funk created between us.

Such funk moments can be made up of and are not limited to the following:

1. “Thank God (my baby/her baby/their baby) doesn’t have any problems.” – Please if you must say this, do not say it in the presence of a parent whose child actually is a person with a disability. Parenting children brings different challenges. Believe me, I know. From parenting a child with a disability to parenting two non-disabled children, there are days I’m more thankful for the challenges I face with Savannah. Talisa and Eli have no issue with me saying that, because equally I can be heard expressing that sentiment when Savannah tries my patience. That’s the reality of being a parent.

It is challenging in the best of families. After having worked with families whose children acquired a disability later in life due to a medical condition or accident, I witnessed first hand how remarkable and unfathomable the love of a parent can be. How in the face of tragedy, a parent can cling to blind hope for years. So maybe when faced with sharing news of a new baby, we can try to say “Please God grant the parents strength and wisdom as they learn to love unconditionally”.

2. “You are amazing. A SuperMum.” – Please don’t dwindle my sacrifices, moments of heartache, frustration, resolution and tears in our fight for Savannah’s right to equality to “Super” anything status. When in truth we are not welcomed into society as Superheroes usually are. SuperMum, I am not. Just Savannah’s mum; doing and being what she needs so she can live a life with dignity and respect. It comes with a ridiculous load of heartache and loneliness. Not perks of a Superhero. I know by walking with Savannah through this life, trusting God’s love for her and for myself, that we both have discovered an extraordinary universe of faith, hope and love still unbeknown to many Superheroes.

3. “Oh wow autistic! Your child must be a genius.” – Why yes, if your definition of genius is being able to remember what every member of her family wore to church every Sunday for the last few years, then Yes! But said child may also be unable to work out how to dress appropriately for different weather conditions. For example, said child can wear shorts and T-back when the weather is below five degrees celsius.

People have different abilities and a parents’ love is not measured by what level of ‘genius’ their children may or may not possess. Frequently I have to debunk that genius definition of autism with: “No, she is not like Temple Grandin or the guy from Rainman. She is amazing in her own unique way, just not like those people.”

4. “You make it look so easy. But I couldn’t be like you”. – No, you can’t be like me. You can only be like you. You can only be the parent your child needs, not who my child needs. Statements like this, while intended to be flattering actually have the opposite effect. They convey the idea that there is a limitation on a parents’ capacity to love and those who exceed that capacity belong in a special group. It just adds to making a parent of a child with additional needs, feel more alienated and increases the likelihood of depression and loneliness. So please for all our sakes, parents and expectant parents, lets just go from the premise that parenting is the most profound role anyone can ever have, without making it about standards or comparisons.

My daughter, Savannah is a woman with a disability and can be frequently heard praying for other people and never for herself; because she sees herself as “Whole and Happy”. Talisa is an almost adult dreaming of her future where “Whole and Happy” will not be precluded by having a child with a disability. Their experience as sisters and as women who appreciate their own individuality without being made to feel that one is more of a blessing than the other, is rich and deep. So much so that when Talisa starts planning her motherhood journey, it will not be overshadowed by the notion of what she can’t be to someone she has yet to meet.

In my different areas of work and service, I get to speak to women from different ages and walks of life who are struggling with their own womanhood, motherhood and identity. Their stories matter and take up a great deal of my heart. But it is my own daughters who already have a residency there.

So I wrote this for my daughters, for when the world tries to rob them of their joy as women who understand a little something about ‘extraordinary’. I wrote this for women whose lives touch mine. For the expectant mother somewhere who needs to know this. And for the mum who is considering leaving her baby somewhere, anywhere because someone or something gave her the idea, that she is not capable.

I wrote this for the child who cannot fend for themselves and who may never be able to do so or may need much help because of having a disability. I wrote this because tonight they will be left in a hospital or a park or in a drain, unwanted by their parents but equally unwanted by the same society that will demonise the parents for giving them up. My own lived experience teaches me that too few people support parents with children with disabilities and even fewer will ever be heard confessing to welcoming such a blessing into their home.

A baby who is differently-abled, will need their family and their community to show up for them in remarkable ways. A child who is going to need extra help, extra support, extra anything, can also be the catalyst for ‘extraordinary’. The ‘extraordinary’ that changes our definition of success from counting accomplishments to being unable to count the depth of love a parents heart can hold while it tethers between heartbreak and joy over and over again.

This is the closest example of how much God loves me and what grace is available to me: That I am able and willing to love sacrificially and unconditionally.

This is also why I believe a blessing awaits anyone who welcomes a child. No further description of the child is needed. Selah

I have three children: Savannah (23 years), Talisa (17years) and Eli Michael (12 years). Savannah was born when I was eighteen years old. I was a single mother before marrying Michael. Savannah is autistic and is a person with cerebral palsy. She cannot live independently and I am her primary caregiver. I worked as an Assistive Technology Advisor in the disability sector, served in the autism community, and am now employed in the child safety sector. I work for a non – profit organization that is a place of safety for babies who ultimately are adopted. I am also affiliated with another non – profit organisation supporting pregnant women in crisis. I have the rare insight of holding a space where these three groups meet – disability, unwanted babies and pregnant mothers. In facing my own parenting struggles and through my faith journey, I learnt a great deal about what people say they believe and what they actually believe. And so I write for the purpose of sharing different perspectives. I write to encourage a thinking line around being kinder and more considerate of other people’s experiences in the areas of parenting, childhood trauma and disability. I write because I know what hopeless felt like when I believed the wrong words. I write because I know that Faith, Hope and Love abide.

Disability Advocacy September 27, 2019

The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword, but Kindness transcends them both

I wrote the first part of this piece eight years ago and shared it a few times since then on other platforms. This is the second part to that piece.

As a writer who shares my own experiences about my struggles with childhood trauma, sexual abuse, being a teenage parent and parenting a child with a disability; it’s special when people write to me to express their gratitude. I don’t take for granted that it is a God-given talent to put words to some unspeakable hurts and experiences. It is Grace that keeps filling my life with Faith, Hope and Love.

Then there are those who are embarrassed that now they know what they would rather not know, and try to make me feel bad for writing it. I can’t help you besides suggesting that you stop reading my work.

I am almost forty-four years old. Of that time I’ve been a mother for twenty-five years to a child with a disability, and two more children while painstakingly trying to piece back what was destroyed in my childhood and in my early adulthood.

That’s twenty-five years of facing social systems where it has been inconvenient to include our daughter with a disability. Twenty-five years of reading cues in social gatherings of whether we are wanted or not. Or how long before they push us aside when they realise that Savannah is a 24/7/365 commitment for us?

Twenty-five years of giving people the benefit of the doubt, only to have Savannah made fun of dismissed by those who were entrusted to care for her. Twenty-five years of having to deal with mothers who let me know how grateful they are that their children aren’t like Savannah. There’s that pat to Savannah’s head and pronouncement that ‘They are such a blessing.’ I keep thinking to reply ‘I hope God blesses you as much as He has blessed me.’ But my fear of extending the unwanted encounter holds me back.

Twenty-five years of still having days when I go to bed weeping, frustrated or lying awake at night wondering what will happen when Michael and I are no longer here.

So why do I keep writing about the hard stuff?

Simply because I am still inspired by my children to leave behind encouragement and evidence for them to know how hard we tried. I write so that my children will know I tried to change hearts and minds, and that being kind is still worth it. In my first edition of this post, I wrote that gaining acceptance within society was the reason I wrote. Now, in the aftermath of the Esidimeni tragedy, and the continued lack of services and support our community faces, I also write to remind other families that we are not alone.

While we bear up against it all, we can be united and be a source of comfort, hope and information.

Like the way, my children comfort each other when they are made uncomfortable because their sister is different. It’s a sad day or a glorious one (whichever way you choose to look at it) when your children can explain the love of God in spite of the callousness of other people.

Sometimes callousness takes the form of being given unsolicited advice. Other times it’s to point out to us, in Savannah’s presence, that God can do amazing things and He will make Savannah whole. I cry every time we hear that because of the severe lack of insight that statement contains. The testimony of God’s sufficiency to my family does not need to be proven by Savannah being made into anything other. His sufficiency is proven in our diligent commitment to her care and well being, even on days when we are overwrought by her complex and beautiful mind, and that we do it again and again. His sufficiency is when Savannah comforts us, and when she laughs and loves freely and without restraint. That’s a testimony of faith and sufficiency.

After twenty-five years of this, I’ve learnt that many people need Savannah to be fit into their limited understanding of God’s goodness for THEIR faith to be affirmed. It feels like they see Savannah as broken and someone who should be “fixed” to match their idea of a whole person so that they can feel affirmed that God is good.

From left to right: Talisa, Eli and Savannah

But in our home, we know a secret. Savannah is a remarkable beauty; fearfully and wonderfully made like her siblings. While the world is designed to forsake us, judge us, dismiss us, persecute us, and remind us how we can’t fit in with their carefully organised systems; we know a God who understands that in our fatigue, it’s hard to grasp theology but easy to hold onto Kindness. A God to whom my children speak to like this:

‘Thank you, God, for the patience you give us. Now please can you give the same to the parents who are racing in school traffic when we are all going to the same place at the same time.’

Or‘Lord, thank you for Savannah. I realised today that she does an amazing thing. She can still choose people who won’t choose her’.

Or Savannah’s prayer, ‘Lord, Thank you my life. Please help lady with walker at church. I feel sorry for her. My dad is sick. I am stressed about him. Look after my sister, my brother. Help my mum. Amen.’

When ignorance pierces my armour; I hold the broken pieces of my heart before God with my favourite poem about loving a child who is different:

I DO NOT CRY FOR WHO YOU ARE(Author Unknown)

Tears have stopped falling
On the fragments of my dreams,
I no longer mourn illusions
Of yesterday’s reality.

Tears that fell so often,
Almost every day,
But that was when the rain poured down
And the sky was always grey.

Now I feel the sunshine,
And the sky is blue again,
I’m living on a rainbow,
But I still cry now and then.

I do not cry for who you are
Nor what will never be
My pain’s in the confusion
And the vulnerability

My frustration’s with a society,
That cannot see you’re mine,
My anger’s to the ignorance,
That will never try.

My fear is from uncertainty
That increases over time.
My guilt is deep inside my soul,
Each time they make me cry.

I do not cry for who you are
Nor what can never be
I cry because they look at you
But never really see

They don’t see how the differences,
Could make the world complete,
They can’t all live on rainbows,
It’s just not meant to be.

You are not responsible,
For all that we’ve been through,
I would not change you for the world,
I would change the world for you.

Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do. Luke 23:34

With all the Love that I’ve found in the Million Beautiful Pieces that make my story, Desirae

A Million Beautiful Pieces July 1, 2019

Parenting: Is it unfair to other siblings, when one child has a disability?

This is my first blog post in three months. Time is a monster in my life but today, I had to write this, as short or long as it may turn out to be. In a time when parenting has become a central focus for many families, it is appalling to me that many people hold to a belief that in families where a child has a disability, it will always be unfair to the siblings of that child.

Now before I offer some insight into why this blanket opinion is appalling; let me acknowledge that there are families where siblings of a child with a disability have complex emotional needs. Their parents may not be as available to them as they might be to the child with a disability. Consider the myriad of demands on parents in typical parenting units. Can you only imagine what the demands are for parents who parent children with different needs? If you can’t imagine it, then let me offer this first piece of advice here – please do not make any comments or assumptions about what happens in families where disability is part of the dynamic. Zoe Gow’s shares her insight about this – Siblings and special needs: the life of the other child.

I can stand on my soap box here and rant about how if you are not raising a child with a disability, you cannot know how hard this is. You do not know what never-ending exhaustion is nor the mental and emotional stamina we must have everyday to be consistent in therapies and medications while also often trying to keep up with a mind that dances to a tune to which the lyrics and harmony are unfamiliar to the parents. And just when we think we have figured it out, the tune changes again.

Michael pulling Savannah up some stairs so we can browse a bookstore together.

From my soap box, I can also add to my rant that you cannot fathom, the love that keeps us doing this again and again, everyday.

But I won’t stand on my soap box to wax lyrical about that. Instead, I want to offer a different perspective from my own true story:

I am a survivor of childhood and teenage trauma, sexual abuse and domestic violence. I was a mother at eighteen years old to Savannah who is autistic and has cerebral palsy, and other stuff (her description of herself). I was made to feel ashamed by my family and my community because I had fallen pregnant out-of-wedlock, and also that my daughter had a disability.

Savannah taking a short stroll with me .

When I finally got my happily ever after, my parents decided to end their marriage as the sun dawned on mine. While I tried with all my might to bask in the glory of my husband and the fact that Savannah had a dad, the embers of my parents dying marriage caught at my soul and burned me. At the same time I was trying to recover from the loud ringing in my ears that announced that Savannah was “severely disabled” and had no hope of a future. I’m guessing you are piecing together by now that I must have had a couple serious emotional problems. I did but the demands placed on me meant that there was no space to acknowledge my own emotions about both events.

Still I wanted to have another baby. Yes. I selfishly wanted to know what it would feel like to have a child who was more like what I thought a child should be. But people would not let Michael and I have that. When we were pregnant for Talisa, we were told that it was unfair to bring a child into the world who would be burdened with Savannah someday. I was told to limit the time the new baby spent with Savannah because she would pick up Savannah’s “bad habits”.

Later when we had Eli, we were told thank goodness we had him, atleast Talisa will not be alone. (Huh,she wasn’t. She had Savannah.) We were asked how would we manage financially and if we thought about how much Talisa and Eli will be deprived off because Savannah will deplete us.

And while I would not describe our financial situation that way, it wasn’t untrue. But it stung that all people saw was a thing who was here to destroy our lives. They did not see a person who deserved dignity, a good quality of life and who had dreams and hopes for herself. Just because her physical form and her mind had some variants to the rest of us, they wrote her off as no one and nothing. As if no good could come from her. An inconvenience.

Eli asleep on Savannah’s lap while travelling to our holiday destination.

Now all these many years later, Talisa and Eli have actually been “burdened” to care for Savannah, within their capacity. And shocker alert…there are days when Savannah is burdened by the bustle of two neuro-typical siblings. Their unstructured routines mess with hers and they encourage her to do crazy things like play cricket and then horror of horrors they want her to go out and mingle with people. They share insane plans with her about when Talisa has her drivers licence and how they will all three go out partying till late at night.

Oh and yes, those people were right. Our finances have been depleted because caring for someone with a disability in this country is not considered a human right but rather a fantastic opportunity to make money off desperate families who want to ensure their person with a disability is not deprived of care, medical attention and necessary supports. So we can’t give Talisa and Eli everything their hearts desire. However, often what their hearts desire is not what is necessary for a happy childhood. I sleep easy when I remind myself of that.

But maybe all those people were right. This life has been unfair to Talisa and Eli.

Savannah, Talisa and Eli on a recent visit to a Basothu Village.

Then I ask, what of the unfairness to the girl who was molested, watched domestic violence and adultery rip her family apart before she was thirteen, who was responsible for her parents marriage both in its existence and it demise, who was a cutter and a suicidal teenager and who understood guilt, rage and shame as normal. Why had no one told her parents that it was unfair to raise children that way?

Quite simply because somewhere we have lost our way and have aligned good parenting to a standard of living that is defined by where we live, what we drive, where our children go to school, what brands we wear, what technologies we own and what level of entertainment we can afford. Good parenting is none of that. It is very simply having a relationship with your children where you see each other, honestly and openly. The CNN reporter Anderson Cooper said of his mother Gloria Vanderbilt after her passing “I knew her and she knew me. And there is great comfort in that”.

Now I am no expert, but if my heart is my guide I’m going to go out on a limb here and say Michael and I have done something right in how we fostered our children’s relationships with each other. Their lives speak these truths:

While I talk about Talisa studying away from home after her school career ends and if that is right for her; she is in no big hurry to leave home. People who have had this discussion with her are always touched by her contentment and that her personal plans do not include fleeing from her sister and us.
Both Eli and Talisa’s plans include having a family. They talk about marriage and children so matter-of-factly and with such pride, that I’m the one who is stunned wondering what is wrong with these children.
They frequently joke with each other and with Savannah about where Sunday lunch will be held when they are adults, and which of them will take Savannah shopping to get the salad ingredients. They fully expect her to contribute to the lunch by making a salad. You know if she doesn’t, it would be unfair (snigger).
This morning I overheard Eli telling Talisa, that he was up playing on his PS4 till late last night and he heard Savannah call. He said “I was glad to have heard her before dad, because atleast I got to her before he awoke. She just needed help to turn over.” When I approached him about it, he said: “Mum, stop making it weird. She is my sister. And I’m not emotionally scarred from helping her.”

So maybe Talisa and Eli have grown up too fast. Maybe they have more responsibility than they should. In light of what many children are allowed access to on television, the internet and in their gaming, as well as that many children are still living with domestic violence, narcissism and so much worse; I’m going to say that developing selflessness, compassion, kindness, empathy, loyalty and sibling love that no one will ever understand, is not the worst thing that can happen to my children. And no I don’t think it’s unfair to them at all.

A Million Beautiful Pieces March 15, 2019

Did Love Save Us When The “Worst” Happened?

Most people have an idea of what the worst circumstance is that could happen to them, and sub-consciously or consciously navigate their lives trying to avoid it. For some it is the fear of illness especially if their parents faced complicated health problems. For others it could be financial: the fear of being poor (no one fears being wealthy). For some it could be losing someone. Either when a relationship ends or when a person’s life ends. For parents of teens, it is a myriad of concerns that we fear. “The worst thing” can take on any form to different people in different circumstances. For myself, there were several “worsts” but none more than when it concerned Savannah.

Savannah And I at the Whitney Houston Show last year

Like many new mothers, when I became a mother for the first time, I had a certain level of obsession about how I wanted Savannah to be cared for. But then, when she was diagnosed as a person with cerebral palsy, my attitude switched between “whatever will be will be” to “follow every piece of advice” exactly, precisely according to the doctor or therapist or anyone who I believed had any experience in caring for a child who had significant challenges. Some days I felt overwhelmed by how much I had to remember about her respiratory issues, her physical challenges and her cognitive challenges.

Yet, like most new mothers, I was ever hopeful that my love was enough to save her from any and all obstacles. We were going to prove the world wrong and she was going to move out of my house by the time she was eighteen and attend university. I wrote a post some months ago titled “When love is not enough” about how we face that truth time and time again.

Sometimes the harshest circumstances create the most steadfast people.

So was the extent of my hope. My heart raced towards this idea only because on an emotional level, I was running from the possibility of Savannah never being able to walk and worse still, I was ever fearful of one day finding that she was not going to wake up. I fully believed with all my heart that this diagnosis of cerebral palsy was the “worst” that could happen. I ignorantly thought that surely once a baby is diagnosed with such a condition, they must be exempt from all other terrible issues?

But no. In fact that very diagnosis and later on the added complications of Savannah being a person who is autistic, taught me that she was never exempt from anything. Her life was like a magnet for all strange and complex health problems both physically and cognitively. If I thought I was overwhelmed by Savannah being diagnosed as a person with cerebral palsy, I had no idea that was only the very first inch of the iceberg of all her challenges.

During the first ten years of Savannah’s life, I went through a cacophony of emotions as I grew from being a teenage parent, to a divorcee, to being a single parent, to my parents marriage finally falling apart, to eventually building my own second marriage and becoming a mother to Talisa. All that in ten years! So it is no wonder that I struggled with depression for most of my life. I could not share this with my family because they believed it was a sign of weakness. When I married Michael this was further complicated when as I Christian I was told that I could not be depressed.

So continued my confusion about why I was here and even more bizarrely why, of all the women in the world, was I given a daughter who needed so much? If being depressed and having thoughts about suicide was causing me to be my own obstruction in receiving God’s love, what hope was there for me now in my role as a parent? As a parent who was struggling with post traumatic stress disorder from childhood trauma and other issues; I felt very lonely and isolated. While I could verbalise some issues to other women in my family and in my church; I was almost always left feeling inadequate. Michael tried very hard to understand this inexplicable, deep sadness but he could not undo what he had not done to me.

All he had to offer me was his love believing just as I believed about my love for Savannah: it would save us from further pain.

The truth of that belief became real about six years ago. I was having a very hard time coping with Savannah when she finished school. A few of our friends’ children with special needs were going to live in facilities and Savannah liked this idea. She did not fully understand what that would mean for her though. For a few days Michael and I were having these heart wrenching discussions about Savannah trying a respite centre for four days a month. It was difficult to admit that I was not coping with Savannah and that she and I both needed a break from each other. It was a tough conversation and one that both Michael and I struggled to find the right words for. Michael was listing off all his fears:

“We have worked so hard for her and it feels like we are giving up.”

“How can we trust them?”

“They don’t know her. What if something terrible happens to her?”

We face the storms of life, and we survive.

As I listened to him put into words what was also my fears, I surprised myself by my response. I said something like this: “What could be worse than what we have already faced? Our worst fears are already true. She lost her ability to walk by herself. Her doctors believe that she has a limited life span. But we are still here. Those things are true but we are still here. The worst has happened. It is happening and we are still okay. What more can we not face?”

That was a defining moment for me. As I said those words. It was as if I also reminded myself of all the “worsts” I have lived through. It had all happened already. The power of that realisation put into sharp focus that in the midst of all the chaos of life, I raised a family who are intact and thriving. It hit me so hard to realise that we had already lived through all the “worsts”.

Just before Talisa was born was probably one of the hardest times in my life and it lasted a few years. I was mourning the loss of my family as my parents marriage disintegrated, while coming to terms with Savannah’s additional diagnosis of autism and trying to be a good mother to Talisa who was a very demanding baby. The weight of everything at that time was incredible. I felt that life would never be happy.

But somehow here I was years later having this discussion with Michael about Savannah having an experience that I knew required a great deal of courage on my part. Like physical exercise that builds muscle, somehow I had grown mentally and emotionally strong in the areas of my life story that should have destroyed me. I gained the ability to remain steady and in control. I learnt to see life from other people’s perspectives which is a great ability when raising a family where a child is autistic and is also a person with cerebral palsy and other conditions.

So did love save us?

What else could have given me the mental agility to be flexible and the wisdom to be emotionally vulnerable to become everything my life needed me to be. Being loved unconditionally by my husband was God’s gift to me. Learning to love myself for exactly who I was, and trusting God’s plan for my life, was my gift back to the loves of my life.

Love saved us. The “worst” has only broken us wide open to share it with everyone.

In the end what else matters?

A Million Beautiful Pieces February 15, 2019

Valentine’s Day was not what we planned:heartbreak

The last few days, our eldest daughter Savannah was excitedly preparing to celebrate Valentine’s Day. This happens in two parts: exchanging presents and baking for the actual day, then a Valentine’s party with Savannah’s squad on the weekend. Talisa and Eli love this celebration because Savannah’s energy is directed at making them happy. Yesterday afternoon, we should have been enjoying the fruits of Savannah’s labour. Instead Valentine’s Day was not what we planned: Heartbreak.

As we are still figuring out how best to help our children through this, I am not going to disclose which one of my children it is. Nor will I explain where this happened and who was involved. We are affording our child who experienced this horrible interaction the opportunity to recover.

What happened was this:

One of my children was in a group with other children of the same age and an adult was present. An unplanned discussion happened about people with disabilities. One person made the following statements:

*People with disabilities should not be kept alive because once their parents die, they become a burden to their siblings.

*If I had to choose between having a physically disabled child and a mentally disabled child, I would choose a mentally disabled child because there are medicines to help them.

*Being disabled is no quality of life because they are suffering.

*What did Reeva Steenkamp see in Oscar Pistorius, because in his normal body he only came up to her waist?

*People born without limbs are pointless.

I can’t write all of what transpired out of respect to my child who had to endure this. The rest of what was said is even more shocking. Up until this point in our lives, Michael and I faced the prejudice, bigots, ignorance, and stupidity as Savannah’s parents. Now Talisa and Eli have to face this.

I worked in the disability sector. My brother Darren Moodley is an amputee. Our lives have been almost fully immersed in disability issues. Therefor my children do not know what different is. In fact they hold to the premise that everyone has some form of “disability”. It could be emotional, spiritual, something unseen. Most just cover it up well. Yesterday, my children realised just what prejudice looks like. It’s a trident that pierces and causes unbelievable pain. Now they are bleeding.

As Savannah’s mum, I can’t fully capture the emotional highs and lows I have experienced because I am ill-equipped as a person to support her. I can’t explain all the ugliness I’ve faced within myself. In learning how to be Savannah’s mother, I lost many things and I was never perfect. But always and without a doubt being Savannah’s mother taught me what unconditional love looks like. Not that I have been good at giving unconditional love myself. God gave it to me and Savannah lives it out for us everyday. Within all my times of complaining and in all my failures and mistakes Savannah only ever sees the best in me.

And that is the greatest gift Talisa and Eli have: their sister loves them and believes absolutely only the best of them. She finds no fault in them. Some would think she is an inconvenience to their lives. Siblings of children who are different know that love and convenience do not go hand in hand. Love is messy, unpredictable, confusing, frustrating, intense, forgiving, rejuvenating, strengthening, courageous, fearless, and necessary. This love teaches them the meaning of life: Mercy and Grace. Talisa and Eli understand this in a profound way that many adults struggle to grasp. When a person is without mercy and grace, then I can only weep for them. What a lonely, painful fall to reality they will face!

There is a saying within our community of people who are differently-abled “Having a child with a disability is not the worse thing to happen. The worst thing to happen is to raise a child who is cruel to people with disabilities.”

Please understand this. The world is changing. Mothers and Fathers and Brothers and Sisters are standing behind the community of People who are differently-abled. We are not sitting in the corners, cowering in fear. We are proudly out and about, displaying the beauty and glory of our community. Please empower your children with what is appropriate behaviour and speech about people who are different. Please ensure that your schools, social groups and religious organisations understand the rights of people who are different. Insist that your children understand and practice basic human courtesy and care. For the love of God, just be KIND!

The world is changing.

For today, my family will weep that we must suffer not because of who Savannah is. Because of who other people are.

I DO NOT CRY FOR WHO YOU ARE (Author Unknown)

Tears have stopped falling
On the fragments of my dreams,
I no longer mourn illusions
Of yesterday’s reality.

Tears that fell so often,
Almost every day,
But that was when the rain poured down
And the sky was always grey.

Now I feel the sunshine,
And the sky is blue again,
I’m living on a rainbow,
But I still cry now and then.

I do not cry for who you are
Nor what will never be
My pain’s in the confusion
And the vulnerability

My frustration’s with a society,
That cannot see you’re mine,
My anger’s to the ignorance,
That will never try.

My fear is from uncertainty
That increases over time.
My guilt is deep inside my soul,
Each time they make me cry.

I do not cry for who you are
Nor what can never be
I cry because they look at you
But never really see

They don’t see how the differences,
Could make the world complete,
They can’t all live on rainbows,
It’s just not meant to be.

You are not responsible,
For all that we’ve been through,
I would not change you for the world,
I would change the world for you.

A Million Beautiful Pieces February 7, 2019

Should siblings be responsible for each other? And if so, is that okay?

Savannah loves this photo of her with her siblings.

When parenting a child with a disability many people offer advice or opinions from their perspective of what would be best for a family like ours. People are not shy to give voice to the potential problems which they believe we face. Specifically, people assume that when non disabled siblings are raised with a sibling with a disability, it will cause some level of hardship in some way to the non disabled sibling. The idea that non disabled siblings will be responsible for their disabled sibling, is frowned upon. This blog post, like most posts that I write, is about giving insight into our lives in the hope of giving other families the vocabulary to speak their truth.

When Michael and I became pregnant with our second child Talisa, we had no fears about anything concerning the new baby. It might have been due to my new-found faith or it might have been that I was still in the honeymoon phase of my marriage. When Talisa was born unlike her elder sister, she was not a person with a disability. She was a demanding baby though and tested my resolve in many ways. But I was happy to have two children. We were very hopeful about the future for our family.

Sadly few people shared our delight. Some people thought that they should educate me about all the problems Talisa was going to experience because of her relation to Savannah. One person thought that Talisa would likely have poor speech because Savannah had a speech impediment. Another piece of unsolicited advice was that it was very unfair to Talisa to be born into a family with a person with a disability as she would be “burdened” with her sister. Someone else suggested that I should limit the time that the girls spent together. The list goes on.

Eli shares Savannah’s passion for gorillas. She was in awe of the wind-up gorilla toy he gave her for Christmas.

In hindsight I think most people were expressing their own fears about parenting a child with a disability. Of course, it was challenging. Especially in the early days when in many areas of development, Savannah and Talisa were on the same level. Even though there was a six-year age gap between them. While adjusting to mothering two girls with different demands, I was also trying to learn all about Savannah’s diagnosis. Savannah was a diagnosed with cerebral palsy. She was non speaking and had other issues that I could not quite understand. She was only diagnosed as being an autistic person when she eight years old. I can only describe the first three years of Talisa’s life as the ‘twilight years’.

By the time Eli came along we were a little more settled as a family unit. Both girls were besotted with him. Together all three formed their own unique relationship. I know many of my friends who have a child with a disability and non disabled children, often testify that having more than one child is the best thing they did. For those parents who choose to only parent their child with a disability, I understand that too. Raising children today is demanding in many ways, and at different times I struggled with the demands of being a parent. More so I struggled with the enormity of Savannah’s special needs. Please do not ask me if it is better to have more children or not after having a child with a disability. There is no better or worse when it comes to children. It is just about working out how to be the best for yourself and for your child or children.

Talisa reminds me that some things are not deep psychological issues. Some things are just what siblings do.

So fast forward to the present day, when Savannah is twenty-two years old, Talisa is sixteen years old and Eli is eleven years old. Talisa and Eli have some responsibility for Savannah. I was aware when both children began assuming certain areas of care for her. While those old voices sometimes echoed in my mind that my younger children shouldn’t be responsible for their sister, my children kept me in check.

My first check was a few years ago when Talisa spoke at an awareness event. She said that she does not often tell people she has a sister who is a person with a disability because she does not want to hear “Oh shame.” She continued to explain that when she meets the non disabled siblings of friends, she never responds with “Oh, shame”. She is a cheeky girl. Her point simply being that Savannah is just her sister like all other sibling relationships. While their relationship has different nuances to most siblings, she does not appreciate that “Oh, shame” is the response it should elicit.

A few more checks came as Eli grew. Being a boy, he easily slips into the role of protector. He enjoys teaching Savannah pranks and jokes. He helps her with: tying her shoelaces to assisting her with her communication software to exercising with her. When Michael is late in returning home, Eli helps Savannah with her bed time routine. (She does not stay asleep whenever I help her to bed, and somehow sleeps better when Michael or Eli put her to bed). I had to stop thanking him for what he does when he asked me to “stop making their sibling stuff awkward with my mum stuff”.

In homes like ours, where one person is vulnerable and will remain so for the rest of their lives, the levels of care and protection that develop between the family members are unique and precious. Few people outside this type of dynamic will understand it. We are always thinking about what might be too much for the non disabled siblings as far as being responsible goes, against what is vital to building strong sibling bonds. For many families siblings are more trustworthy than a professional care giver or another adult. In truth, one day they will be the only people who will oversee the care of their sibling with a disability.

This week as Savannah began her new therapy program, we created a group on WhatsApp for the team so that we can easily transfer information between home and therapy. Both Talisa and Eli are included in that group. As her siblings they share all her milestone moments with her as well as her day-to-day life. It is offensive to them when they are excluded from important areas of Savannah’s life. Talisa asked me once why people make a big deal about her role in Savannah’s future? She said that most siblings have some level of care and loyalty towards each other. How can anyone expect her to be detached from Savannah’s life when they both become adults?

Little brother is watching. Eli keeps a watch on Savannah’s YouTube browsing.

In raising our children, we did not heed the advice of anyone who thought that Savannah would be a burden to her siblings. We simply raised children in a home with a family that loved each other. Like all children, Talisa and Eli go through all the usual issues and triumphs of life as they grow. They have their own challenges, their own dreams and their own goals. Unlike other children they learnt a little something about tolerance and patience early in life. I think the best lesson they learnt is about accepting people for who they are. They are not angels or better than other children. They are simply siblings who get to understand loyalty and love much quicker than most.

For all parents of children with disabilities, we live with a constant fearful thought that we try to ignore. What will happen to our vulnerable children when we die? When we have more than one child, none of our children will be alone in the world. Especially our child with a disability.

Each family is different and every sibling deserves a life that is true to who they are. As parents we are responsible for building that life. Please think about that when you meet a family raising both disabled and non disabled children.

If you found this post helpful, you might also enjoy reading about Being Courageous Even In Uncertainty.