DETOURS
My anger about Jessica’s diagnosis, whether born of pain or grief, blinded me. I secretly despised the rest of the world, but that couldn’t explain why I lashed out at Jessica’s teacher, Miss Frankie. Maybe it was because she constantly assured me that we were in the best place possible, but that day, I had enough of her platitudes.
I arrived at the preschool program to drop off Sarah and Jessica. When I ran into Frankie in the parking lot, she waved us over.
“Cathy, how have you been? Girls, let’s take your mommy to the classroom. She and I need to catch up.”
Sarah and Jessica ran in and headed to the sand table. I stood at the door, stared at the orange shag rug, and dug the toe of my sneaker into the thick pile. I knew what Frankie would ask me.
“So how was the visit to the neurologist?”
“The doctor diagnosed Jessica with cerebral palsy.”
For a second, Frankie looked surprised, then confused. “Cerebral palsy? But you were supposed to talk to me as soon as you heard. I told you I can help with Jessica.”
That’s what triggered me: the way she oversimplified everything, including Jessica’s problem.
“Frankie, don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter how loving you are, how many degrees you hold, or how many years you’ve taught, Jessica needs a trained therapist, not some teacher with a master’s in special education.” Bits of saliva flew from my mouth as I yelled.
“What’s wrong with you?” Frankie’s eyes widened in horror as she wiped the spit off her arm. My outburst was so out of character, the shock on her face frightened me. “You need to calm down before either of us says something we’ll regret.”
My friend Marin marched across the room and grabbed my hand. “Hey, Cathy, let’s take a walk. I’m a good listener.”
Fidgeting, a flush of warmth rose across my face. I turned to Frankie, apologized, then went outside. Marin and I watched through one of the classroom windows as Frankie sat cross-legged with her peasant skirt tucked between her knees. She called the children for the morning circle. Sarah, who adored Miss Frankie, sat beside her as the rest of the children gathered on the rug. Jessica stood aside as one last straggler hurried past her. She might as well have been invisible.
“You saw that, didn’t you? Jessica doesn’t play with the other kids. I don’t care how hard Frankie tries; this isn’t the right place for her. I haven’t found a program and I’m frustrated beyond belief.”
Marin squeezed my shoulder. “It must be hard. I can see why you’re angry. Frankie thinks Jessica should hang around other two-year-olds, at least until you find another program. But hey, you know your child. You know what kind of environment she needs. You’ll find the right place, eventually.”
My voice rose as I erupted. “You know what’s hard? The frustration. The dead ends. Everywhere I turn it’s like the universe conspires against me. This morning I grabbed a towel to dry dishes and four plates slid off the counter like a set of dominoes. It was strange how those broken plates made me think of Jessica. My first impulse was to smash them into teeny pieces.”
Marin nodded sympathetically. “So did you throw them away?”
I shrugged. “Nope. Glued them back together. I actually salvaged three of them. And I’ve convinced myself if I can fix dishes, then I can fix Jessica.”
Marin laughed. “Well dishes and children are two different things.” Then she said something about how we all worry about our kids and about her daughter, Abby until Abby turned two. But Abby didn’t have a twin. I couldn’t help comparing Jessica to Sarah, and my growing fear about her delays haunted me. There had to be something I could do. At that moment, I decided I wouldn’t rest until I found an answer.
We walked along the tree-lined path to the parking lot as Marin chatted. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you want our sit-on train. Abby’s gotten a little too big for it.”
I glanced at Marin. She squinted in the sun, her freckles bursting out in the summer heat. She grabbed her auburn tresses and twisted them into a bun.
“Sarah told me about Abby’s train. We’d love to have it. Do you think it will fit on my patio?”
Marin nodded and said her husband would be happy to bring it over and help set it up.
The following weekend, a fifteen-foot plastic track covered the patio floor. The battery-powered train had a red locomotive car, a control panel in the front seat, and a red caboose car that sported another plastic seat. As Chip and Marin’s husband finished the assembly, Marin hooked up the battery in the engine compartment. Sarah and Abby climbed on to ride.
“Sarah will want to have this too.” Marin handed me a black-and-white striped Thomas the Tank conductor hat. Wary, Jessica watched through the glass doors until Sarah called to her.
“Do you want to get on and ride with me? Abby said it’s your turn.”
Abby offered Jessica her seat, and to everyone’s surprise, Jessica came out of the house and climbed on. For the rest of the day, the three girls took turns on the train. Jessica focused, her tiny mouth slack, like a door with a loose hinge. The train jerked forward and glided along the track. Perched on the seat, Jessica kept her hands clasped around Sarah’s waist, wearing an expression of utter joy. My twins, as different as two sisters could be. I lifted my eyes to the heavens and sent a silent plea.
Please let Jessica move forward.
#disabilities #parenting #motherhood
