May 26 2008
Forever a little girl, grown up enough to thrive on my own.
My mother had an awful time of raising up four children. It seems that not a one of us was right, just from the get go. There was something wrong with all of us from the time we were born.
My eldest sister was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, now in an unexplainable remission with no symptoms.
My sister just below me was born with spinal meningitis, had two lungs collapse, and is allergic to most things under the sun: including the sun.
My baby sister was born with diabetes and had a bad heart, which required massage of her legs to improve circulation 8 times a day.
Perhaps the most difficult for my mother to deal with was I.
I was a quiet child. Never fussed much as a baby, and did not grow. The early years were no prelude to what my mom would go through as I began to try to find my place in this world.
More than once, she was told to give up on me, that I would live forever in an institution.
Even as an adult, she has struggled to see me to individuality, and dependability.
I do not speak with her now. So much has happened between us over the years. It seems that I gained a sense of myself; she did not see that and still views me as an incapable, incapacitated, and incomplete individual.
I guess when you have cared for people all your life and they all grow up, die, or mature on you, one still tries to hang onto a piece of that vulnerability in others.
For my mom, she thought that would always be me. Now that it is not, her vulnerability has come through.
I am forever a little girl. I love this about me. However, I can function in this world, I can make my own way, and I am truly my own person. My childlike tendencies do not keep me from my adult responsibilities, they are just another part of the complex person I am.
