family Archives | Page 2 of 2 | A Million Beautiful Pieces

My Story January 13, 2018

The Past And The Present Met

It is already two weeks into the New Year and this is my first blog post for 2018. My hope for you is that wherever you are in life today, that this is the year you will know resounding Joy and have boundless Courage.

I learnt alot about that in 2017. I realised that I found my Courage a long time ago but it has taken all of my adult life to find Joy. This holiday season has truly been Joyful which is an amazing description for me to give. Usually I dread holiday season.

As a family with an adult daughter with complex special needs; relaxation and socialising has always been labour intensive which in my opinion, defeated the purpose and left me feeling confused and cross every, single holiday.

Yup, I understood the holiday blues very well.

This holiday season I enjoyed a pleasant, beautiful start to the year on a beach in a quiet seaside town with my husband and children as well as with our extended family. My daughter Savannah still has the same struggles and some additional struggles but what she doesn’t have anymore is a mother who feels overwhelmed and frustrated with life.

I’ve written in a previous blog about how long I battled suicidal thoughts. Even long after I stopped feeling that death was an option, I still felt a deep sadness: a melancholy in my soul, a wish to slip quietly into darkness. 2017 was the year that I understood that darkness and it’s hold over me.

It was the year that I accepted that no one can save me from the sadness but myself. 2017 was the year I became my own hero. I was marked by the frailty of life and touched by the gift of each new day as our family faced a new set off challenges with Savannah.

To that end, my husband surprised us by booking this holiday so that we could make memories with our children and still keep Savannah as comfortable as she needed to be.

Ironically, I was holidaying just a stone’s throw from the home that our matric class of 1995 stayed in for our Matric farewell tour. Being there; seeing the familiar train track we walked along twenty three years ago and the sandy road that leads to the Children’s Home were we stayed brought back memories. The past and the present met each other.

Before that tour I remember how us girls worried if we would be able to fit everything that we would need: like a hairdryer and clothing for every season and occasion! We worried about where we would sleep and if we had to share the bathrooms with each other. Oh horror of horrors for teen girls. It seemed so important back then.

I vaguely remember an evening with a beach bonfire, the dinner hall which I think had pink and peach chintz curtains, an illegal alcohol related gathering and walking along the train track to the mini shopping centre during the day.

I remember how often on that tour and for the rest of the year I felt that I didn’t belong amongst those amazing people. I had nothing to offer this group of confident and friendly fellow students. I deeply admired the few I had formed close relationships with; and wished I could be more to them.

I admired the sets of friends as much as I admired the individuals who made up the sets. But when you see yourself as worthless, you can’t comprehend that you have value.

Throughout the two years that I was at the school I was battling a deep depression. I felt like an empty shell. I felt old and sad. Yet to everyone around me, I was the dependable, responsible, happy girl.

My first suicide attempt was in the November of 1995; the night before my final Afrikaans matric exam. I was found in time to be taken to a hospital; my stomach was pumped and drained and I was made to write the exam. I was dazed and tired but write it I did.

My attempt to end my life was glossed over by my family and I was left feeling guilty for putting them through that. By the next August I had become a mother and a wife, and the sadness intensified with the shame and pressure from my social circle.

Two years later I was a single parent to a child with a disability, a divorcee and working to make ends meet for my daughter and myself. I only faced each day because I was responsible for my daughter. Nothing else. I felt trapped in this world.

This week I heard of the death of a well respected professional in the disability community, and the Facebook announcement of her death had this quote “People do not die from suicide, they die from sadness.” So true.

I remember friends who have left this world by their own hands and how often I have waltzed with suicide and I angrily question that in a time when we know more than we have ever known about emotional well being, mental health and psychology and the importance of support structures…why, oh why do we not see the sadness? What are we missing that it is still so difficult for people to find help and understanding?

It seems that all that’s happening is that we are becoming a generation with intellectual prowess but devoid of genuine sensitivity and care towards each other.

It’s not enough that the British Royal Family have stepped out and spoken about mental health and their own struggles; it’s on us in our homes, in our social circles, in our offices, in our religious organisations who need to open our minds and hearts. We must find our Courage to speak so that no one in our social circles feels so alone that suicide seems to be a reasonable answer.

We must find our Courage to speak about suicide. We must learn to be honest about our own struggles. We should be living consciously that we are part of each other. People are always more important than things. Always.

As I gazed out at the dazzling aqua blue sea and listened to the pounding of the waves on the shore, I was reminded of the pounding of my own heart. I am still here. I learned to live past the sadness and I ended my waltz with Death.

If you feel that life is not worth living, please afford yourself the respect of speaking to someone who understands. You are not alone in this and help is available to you.

Please Stay.

Contact the South Africa Suicide Crisis Line

For a suicidal Emergency contact us on 0800 567 567

24hr Helpline 0800 12 13 14

http://www.sadag.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=11&Itemid=114

https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-South-African-Depression-and-Anxiety-Group/335962293097734?ref=bookmarks

https://twitter.com/TheSADAG

My Story October 30, 2017

We are grateful when our child with special needs is acknowledged

Our family had a great treat on Saturday when Savannah was able to attend a wedding with us. After attending so many functions as a family of four; it was awesome to finally attend something as a family five. What fun it was to get dressed. A very dear friend loaned Savannah a beautiful Punjabi (a traditional middle eastern garment) to wear. She spent days looking at it and feeling it so that she could become used to the texture and colours.

Savannah struggles with sensory processing difficulties, amongst other struggles. For many, many years we could not wear traditional clothing because the colours were too overwhelming for her. So overwhelming in fact that she would throw up after terrible bouts of gagging. This past weekend Savannah, Talisa, my mum and I wore traditional Indian clothing and I had a special time getting the girl’s hair and make-up done.

We took many photographs and created lovely memories that was special to share with my Facebook contacts on my personal page. Everyone enjoyed seeing us decked out and acknowledged how special it was that we have a photograph of us as a family of five. As I study the photo of my family looking back at me, there is something that I want you to know about families like us.

We are grateful when Savannah is acknowledged.

No, we do not want to be the centre of attention nor do we want her to be treated any differently. But her disability means that there are some things that she will never be able to participate in for varying reasons. Please don’t go off on the “positive thinking” thing. Some people are born really short and need a step-ladder to reach the top cupboards in their own homes (I know, I am this person), and all the positivity in the world doesn’t make them grow to reach the cupboard. So yes, same thing. Savannah’s disability means she just can’t do certain things. When she is acknowledged with kindness and compassion just for who she is; it builds up her self-esteem and makes the hard stuff a little more bearable for Michael and I.

Earlier this year at one of the weddings that Savannah briefly attended, the bride and her mum had a family member bring a bouquet of flowers to Savannah to hold. The bouquet was a smaller version of the brides’ bouquet. Savannah held it while she watched the bride walk down the aisle. With so many things for a bride and her mum to think off on such a big day, it was very touching that they thought of including Savannah in this way. Note: the bride never posted a single picture of this on any social media platform. It was just a special moment for her and Savannah and was not the brides’ opportunity to be “applauded for doing something nice for the disabled kid”.

At another wedding that Savannah could not attend because she was unwell; instead of throwing her bouquet, the bride gave it to me for Savannah. Yet again, at a different wedding, the bride also gave me her bouquet for Savannah paying tribute to Savannah in a moving speech. Then all the guests stood in prayer for Savannah. I wept.

At the wedding that we attended this past Saturday, the guests joined the bridal couple on stage for photographs. We would not have been able to get Savannah up on the stage and were contented to not have a photograph with the couple. But the bridal couple came down to where Savannah was seated and took a photo with her. That was very meaningful to Savannah that the bridal couple acknowledged her.

All these ladies displayed an unselfishness that is not seen too often today. To think of Savannah in these thoughtful ways when they have every right to be selfish is simply breathtaking. I recognise that we are incredibly blessed to have so many people of calibre in our lives. But too many of my friends with children with special needs do not have this support and insight from their own families and their places of worship. Some people even say it’s unfair that the child with the disability “steals” the attention on the day.

Families of children with special needs recognise that we are the “eye sore” of an event and we definitely do not want to “steal” the attention. Believe you me, it is no fun having people stare at your child or make patronising comments to you when they’ve had a couple of drinks and are suddenly less awkward to be near your child. Or having to withstand the lovely ladies in their finery who stare condescendingly at you and at your child. No, thank you. We do not want to “steal” the attention at all.

In society today, people without a disability wax lyrical about how hard everyday life is for them. A life they choose to live, built by their own hands. So it is astonishing that as a society we are not nearly as compassionate or caring to those who cannot live at the same pace that society sets. There is little point in buying a sticker or dressing up in costume to support a fundraiser for special needs; if when you have the opportunity to acknowledge the family in your midst with a person with special needs, you don’t do it. It is a testament to our humanity when we show that we care. It reminds families that there are good people in the world. It makes them brave and helps them to make beautiful memories with their children. The consequences of these actions have a far deeper impact than wearing a sticker ever will.

People with special needs and their families did not choose to be in need of support and care but we are. Our children did not choose to be dependent on their families forever but they are. We want to rejoice and celebrate in the happy events of our families and our friends. When we make what is sometimes a mammoth effort to show up and to keep our bleeding hearts in check to celebrate someone else’s happiness; please simply acknowledge it; quietly and gently. You may forget the moment soon after the event has passed but we will remember it forever.

#acknowledge

My Story August 7, 2017

Few people would choose a child like mine

My mother-in-law is sick. Very sick. It’s quite surreal for us because she is the centre of the family. It’s painful to watch someone with so much energy and with such zeal find themselves in tremendous physical discomfort as old age encroaches.

This post though wasn’t prompted by her illness. It was prompted when I saw this on a Facebook timeline “The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down”, from the Book of Proverbs in the Bible. I immediately thought of my mother-in-law or “Ma” as we affectionately refer to her.

Mothers of sons tend to have a pretty fixed picture of the ideal daughter-in-law for their beloved sons and Ma was no different. I was definitely not the ideal daughter-in-law. Becoming a mum at eighteen; married and divorced by twenty-one years old and having a daughter with a disability; doesn’t exactly say “I’m the right girl for your son”.

However from the beginning we both knew it would take an effort from both of us to make our relationship work. What surprised me the most was how little effort it took for Ma and Savannah’s relationship to work. From the minute they met, Savannah belonged to Michael’s mum. For Ma the adoption process was a mere formality to give Savannah the same name as her and her family. It certainly helped Ma and I to navigate our relationship with a deeper sense of care.

A few years later when I was pregnant for Talisa, I prayed for a boy. I was afraid that when Michael and his family had another girl; their “own” girl; then they would draw the distinction between Savannah and the second girl. In some families positions and birthrights can be contentious points and the root of much discontent. Also many natural families do not easily accept and value their own child with a disability. I can now admit that with all of this in my mind, I was terrified of having another daughter. I didn’t think I could bear the heartache of watching my already socially challenged child facing rejection.

Because of the rough start I already had I understood too that “belonging” to a family was not a guarantee. I wanted all my children to enjoy that privilege equally, yet I understood I was hoping for something quite ridiculous given the circumstances. On the day Talisa was born Ma phoned me. She said clearly “Thank you for my second granddaughter. I am blessed with two girls when for so long I had only sons and grandsons”. I wept.

Six weeks later Michael, Savannah and I took the new baby to meet her dad’s family in Durban. Extended family poured in to congratulate us and to celebrate with my in-laws too. A few people remarked that finally my mother-in-law had a “daughter” of the house. Ma never missed a beat in reminding the jubilant visitor that she had a granddaughter for a few years already and that she just happened to know this new granddaughter since birth.

Since then Ma in her resolute way ensured that Savannah and Talisa grew together in love and pride for each other and for the family they belonged too. Being a parent in the community of people with special needs I know that very, very few people would CHOOSE a child like my Savannah. In fact many families fall apart in circumstances like these. Not all families can make the sacrifices that caring for a person with a disability requires and even fewer can make those sacrifices without being boastful about it. My husband and his family did just that and they have never spoken about it. They consider it an offence should anyone defer to their relationship with Savannah as being special or if they are told that they are amazing people for “looking after that child”. They do not justify Savannah’s place in the family to anyone. It’s just what family does.

So here we are. My mother-in-law who is really sick, being bossy to me about making sure that Savannah’s 21st birthday is spectacular. It is her granddaughter after all and what Ma and her girls want, they usually get.

As I celebrate Savannah’s 21st birthday this week, I am mindful of how blessed I am. Even though it’s so painful that Savannah is experiencing complex medical problems and my mother-in-law too is experiencing such pain and discomfort; I am grateful to both these women for weaving their beauty through my life. Savannah with all her complexities has taught me that a frail body can house a powerful soul. Ma taught me that when you say you love God with all your heart, all your soul and all our strength; then it’s not hard to love His children.