Bittersweet reason for mum's pride as daughter starts high school
By Jo Abi|
Everyone is quick to tell you that you are wrong whenever you make a disparaging remark about your own parenting skills. Thankfully my daughter Caterina, 12, confirmed I'd fallen short in many ways during her primary school years - mainly while I was focused on her older brothers.
Here's how the conversation unfolded in the car, while we were driving to the shops to buy everything she would need to start high school this year.
Me: "Sometimes I feel like I neglected you when I was busy with the boys."
Her: "Yeah, you did."
Me: "But you didn't really need anything."
Her: "Yes I did, I just didn't get them."
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It was short and sharp and brutal, but when you are a mum, and in particular when you are a mum with special needs kids, you don't have time to feel sad or cry or have therapy sessions, so she returned to texting her friends and I found parking and we bought stationery, shoes and a fluffy keyring she's had her eye on.
I didn't even get to take her to her first day of school today.
The school has decided not to allow parents onto school grounds having previously said one parent per child would be allowed, but things change quickly during the pandemic so we took that in our stride.
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I was expecting to drop her at the front gate but she had already arranged for her friend to pick her up so they could walk in together.
When she told me my face must done something, perhaps contorted in pain, prompting her to say, "Only if you are okay with that."
"Of course!" I said, a little too brightly.
I watched her get ready for school this morning. She straightened her hair and put it in a ponytail. She packed her bag and when I told her I'd pack her recess and lunch for her she said she was happy to do it herself.
She's at school now and has texted me twice which is nice, but I can't help but feel she doesn't need me so much anymore. The years she did need me more, I was overwhelmed caring for her brothers, both of whom have autism and one of whom suffers from mental illness.
Having brothers with autism has never bothered her. She's never know anything different. And at home they are at their best because they are comfortable and cared for.
"I can't help but feel she doesn't need me so much anymore."
What did bother her was how busy I always was, driving them to appointments, lying down with them in bed when they were distressed, missing concerts and presentations at her primary school because I was with the boys.
"Don't worry, you never come to school stuff, I'm used to it," she said once, years ago.
And I really didn't realise she'd noticed she'd been neglected until she said things like this. Maybe I've been to busy to think about it. Perhaps I was hoping she hadn't noticed.
She did notice, but I think she's still okay.
My autism mum friends and I often share with each other research that shows the siblings of special needs children grow up to be the kindest and most compassionate adults. We comfort ourselves with it.
And if I were to use any two words to describe my daughter, "kind" and "compassionate" would be at the top of the list.
The years when she was younger, the years during which she needed me more are gone and I can't get them back. Even if I did I couldn't do anything differently.
Watching her walk down our hallway to get into her friend's car this morning, dressed in her high school uniform with her hair straightened and fixed in a ponytail, carrying her purple checked backpack with several fluffy keyrings attached to it, I couldn't stop the butterflies in my stomach.
It's a strange feeling for me this year. It's 2022. My eldest is turning 18 and he is better than he has been in years. He has a great therapist and starts his university pathway program in a couple of weeks. My younger son is turning 14 and is in an incredible support unit at an incredible school. He is safe and happy.
And my daughter my baby, is turning 13. She's a high schooler now. She's healthy, she's happy and she's wise beyond her years.
Maybe she wouldn't have turned out this way if it hadn't been for her brothers, or maybe the fact she is this way is why she was able to cope with it all, and be so forgiving of my failings.
Butterflies in my stomach aside, the overwhelming feeling I am having is one of fierce pride. She is an incredible human, and for better or worse, I get to be her mother.
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