Special girls

Last Saturday, my daughter celebrated her 14th birthday with a slumberparty, inviting 3 of her closests friends to spend the evening and the night at our house. I will admit I wasn't looking forward to it. All three of them are 'special" kids with psychological and behavioral issues, and I wasn't really sure I could even do this. Especially since in the week prior to the party I had collapsed pretty badly myself, a lot of my undealt with hurt from the past surfacing, leaving me in tears and wondering how on earth I was supposed to go on. When that happened, I pondered my options. Seeing a therapist wasn't my number one choice, given it is pretty hard to find a good one. And so I decided to work through this all by myself. In Pema Chodrun's "Noble Heart" training, which I have here as an audio course, I found exactly what I was looking for. How to turn our mind from anger and hurt towards a completely open mind/heart, filled with love and compassion. All this wasn't new to me, as I have been studying Buddhism in general and Pema Chodrun in particular for quite some time now. But it is funny how, even when we know what to do and how to do it, we forget so easily, caught up as we are in the problems of everyday life and our ego driven sense of self that feels this strong need to defend itself against what we perceive as suffering, the unfairness and harshness of life itself. And so, still barely back on my feet emotionally myself, the day came and the girls arrived.

My husband and son left for dinner and a movie in Amsterdam, partly so they didn't have to be a part of all the girlie stuff going on, and partly because for the girls it would be much nicer to make this an "all females event", as well. And the last thing I had expected happened: I had a blast. All of the girls were absolutely wonderful and a delight to have around. Sure, they have their issues, all sorts of them, but they are also, maybe even because they are "special", very real, very open and from the heart. Without any effort they dragged me into their world, which evolves around the boys at school, puberty and the insecurities that come with it, and silly giggling about absolutely nothing. We sang karaoke with the Playstation and one of the girls turned out to be a true little songbird with a very pure voice. The rest was actually horrible to listen to, but they sang with so much joy it didn't even really matter. We went out to have dinner at a local cafetaria and I sat there listening to their stories, grinning big and not caring at all about the fact they were actually being really loud, at times screaming their heads off laughing or teasign one of the girls who had gotten a smile and a wink from a hunk who was sat at the next table and couldn't stop blushing about it. Walking back home we hooked our arms into each others and so all five of us formed a row, and I was amazed at how easily they accepted me in. Later on back home there was storytelling, Twister and watching a movie on DVD. Then finally it was bedtime, more giggling and laughing and talking until it was really late and I had to take on my adult role for the first time, telling them they really had to go to sleep now.

The next day, I made them all a big breakfast, and soon after they all got picked up by their parents. I was truly sorry to see them leave and found myself telling them that, if ever they wanted to come over again, they would always be more than welcome.

I'm still amazed by what a big difference a change in thinking can make. I could have easily chosen to get totally frustrated and stressed out by their loudness, their sometimes strange behavior and all sorts of things. But simply shifting my focus towards seeing the good things, sharing in their life, joy and sadnesses made this a great and very energizing experience. These kids really are special. But not in the way society uses special as a synonym for handicapped. There is a purity, a joy and a heart in them, and often all sorts of talents that are easily overlooked because of the stigma they carry with them. I can't count the times people have told me "ohmy, so you have an autistic daughter. That must be so hard." No one ever goes "that must be a fantastic challenge, I envy you". And yet, this is true as much as that it is sometimes hard to deal with. And I wish I knew of a way to make people see that, and to embrace these kids instead of writing them off as "special", secretly meaning: losers. They are anything but.

Joy

A scream from the bathroom. "MOM!! I am having my period!" I smile big as she comes running out, straight into my arms. I catch her and hold her close. "Congratulations, I already suspected that would be the reason for your belly aches these past few days. Now remember what I told you about all this, it's nothing to worry out, just a sign you're becoming a woman. Your belly is now officially ready to have babies." She looks up at me and lets out a heartfelt "eeeewww!!" and we both laugh, remembering our last conversation about sex which she ended by going "Mom.. they use that thing to pee with. Why would I want that inside me??"

Twelve years old, entering the next stage of her development. It brings back a ton of memories in me. From the very first time I had my period (I was almost 17, and worried sick I would never become a woman) but also the difficult circumstances under which she was born. The emergency caesarian after only 7 months of pregnancy which brought her into this world, leaving both her and me fighting for our life but winning the battle, against all odds. The surgeon, asking me if I had a name for the baby and me, half conscious, instantly thinking of a name: "If she survives, there is only one name to properly express what I feel.. her name will be Joy". The doctors at the IC for premature babies being majorly concerned and telling us they had no idea what would become of her, but that the chances of her being severely handicapped were large. Her biological father who at that point seriously considered the option of taking her off all the equipment keeping her alive, and letting her die. And me, literally standing in between her and him, speaking the three words I hardly ever use, but if I do it is very obvious I mean business: "No.. fucking.. way." Followed by a much friendlier, but just as certain: "She'll be fine."

And she is fine. Yes, she has PDD-NOS, a form of autism. She is not the average kid and there are many things she'll never be able to do like a "normal" kid. But she is a beautiful, warm, incredibly creative child, who makes the most amazing art and videos on her computer, can sing very well, and has an outlook on life that is simply fascinating to listen to. She works with energies like a fully trained shaman, and all in all she is simply wonderful. I'll be the first to admit she can be extremely tiring as well, needing lots of attention and sucking tons of energy but even though at times I feel drained, I wouldn't trade her for anything. She is, and always will be, my pride and Joy.