Our younger daughter is about to set off on her great OE in the footsteps of her sister. I am a real wuss and cry each time one of them leaves home to go flatting, never mind leaving the country! I do admit to not missing the mess in the bathroom, the long hair in the shower plughole and the fussy eating. But they are very minor things in the scheme of things
I am happy to see her spread her wings and to pursue that right of passage for young Kiwis, I don’t know what it will be like to have both our daughters offshore and I dread it. Thank heavens for email, Facebook and skype. When I did my OE it was a aerogramme once a week and an occasional postcard if you were lucky. And you NEVER phoned home unless it was a life or death situation or you had completely run out of money which amounted to the same thing. But it will be hard not being able to hang out with and hug one of them at least.
Because I am thinking about them a lot more even than usual at present I have been reflecting on parenting, and for me that means reflecting on being a disabled parent. How fortunate I have been to have my girls. Unlike many disabled mothers I have had a supportive husband and family, and lovely plunket nurses. No-one ever questioned my right to be a mother, and I have never been in a position so precarious that the powers that be thought it necessary to take my children away from me simply because of my impairment and/or because I could not pay for the support I needed.
All of these things happen to disabled women everywhere. Sadly New Zealand has little support for disabled mothers beyond the services available for all women. They are not always the most supportive for disabled parents.
But our girls have been my best and most loyal supporters, even when they were little. They have never been ashamed of my impairment in front of their friends, (apart from the usual teenage stage of not wanting to be seen with their parents,) They have always accepted without question or negative comment my disabled friends, and even in the worst of teenage tantrums never showed resentment about the things I haven’t been able to do with or for them as they have grown up.
When they were little the dreaded “h” word “handicapped” was the equivalent of the dreaded “f” word, not to be uttered under any circumstances. They have even been known to rebuke their teachers for using it.
I have tried not to burden them with extra cares because of my impairment and was furious when a woman bus driver, after seeing my ‘blind’ bus pass said to one of them “now you look after your Mummy” She was only six! I wanted to say “I am the mother she is the child. I look after her!” but decided she wouldn’t get it.
So, my dear godwits fly away. Enjoy your freedom. Have fun and learn about the world but come back home before too long.
Today in Montana Poetry Day so I thought I would join in the fun with a little offering of my own. I dedicate it to New Zealand Post – we received a second copy of their wretched survey the other day.