About Grief

And how deep the Rhetoric of Ableism runs.

In my life I love. I laugh. I get angry. I get bored. I whine. I rejoice. I joke. I drink too much coffee and wine. I yell at my husband and at the computer for daring to behave differently after the latest software upgrade (the 'puter, not the husband). I dance and sing and eat burgers with gusto.

Sometimes I cry when someone's a total ass towards me and sometimes I fight back. Most times I hang out with my family and friends and just bathe in the happiness and joy.

I enjoy my life. I'm happy and content. I'm where I want and wanted to be. I enjoy my life.

Yesterday I read this article on Huffington Post about grief. It's a personal account and a parent's take on something that gets tossed around in the Down syndrome community a lot, namely 'grieving the child you thought you were going to have, to be able to enjoy the child you did get'. To me personally this exercise has always been pointless at best and incredibly insulting at worst. So I wanted to comment thusly:

"I am also a mother to a child with special needs and while I support you and understand you as a fellow parent and as a human being with a specific experience I also feel to need to bring to your attention that your experience is by no means a universal one. In fact, I often consider an experience such as yours, which is by no means invalid in any way, brought on by compliance to a rhetoric created for the mainstream, *only* for the mainstream. A rhetoric that never questions what it means to be human, what it means to have value and worth or have a valuable or a worthy life. What it means to be happy. Why we're so driven to attain a level of accomplishment, of development for our children. What is normal and how is it defined and where does the concept derive from? I know there is a whole world out there that does not define success by milestones or worth by 'closeness to normalcy'. There is love and diversity and a movement that allows for difference that doesn't define, but enhances. 

I feel we cannot change things for our loved ones (or for ourselves) unless we let go of what has been arbitrarily defined and create anew. Lets change the world for our children, not our children for the world.

Much love to you and yours."

I always feel compelled to say something when it seems like a major news outlet is picking up 'a story' I and many other advocates refer to as misery peddling, when the struggle they pick up on is not the struggle for equal rights, inclusion and acceptance, but the struggle of a caregiver to get over their shock and horror at a disability. This article in Huffington Post is by no means unique, it is the latest in a long, long line of articles discussing depression, jealousy, and even thoughts of suicide when facing one's child having a disability.

I guess misery sells. I guess overcoming something insurmountable (oh please) sells. I guess someone finally being able to love a kid who (gasp) has an intellectual disability is the stuff for inspiration and appreciation of one's own life. Who knows?

But the person who wrote the story responded:

"While I appreciate your perspective, I believe that the world you speak of and hope for is a utopia of sorts and unfortunately unrealistic in present day. Without milestones as a yardstick, parents would not know whether or not their children were falling behind in things like walking, talking, etc. Those milestones signal proper development and the lack thereof signals a need for assistance such as therapy. This is not to make these children "normal" for the sake of society, it is to allow them the opportunity to grow to reach their potential - whatever that may be. For example, if a child is not identified with a neurological or physical disability and then treated quickly enough, there is a possibility that they may not be able to walk. They would certainly have value and be considered worthy of life either way, but having the ability to walk (rather than be confined to a wheelchair or walker) would arguably bring them more opportunities and and general ease throughout their lives. I'm not sure it is fair to our children to ignore societal norms - regardless of how "arbitrary" we may think they are. Until we can change the perspective of everyone in the world, the best we can do is create realistic and hopeful expectations and a loving and supportive environment for our children and the people around them. J."

I nearly passed out.

Every once in a while there's something that just leaves me completely hopeless. Leaves me wondering why I keep doing what I'm doing when one of 'my' people - fellow parents, family members of people with disabilities, and self-advocates - with me at the barricades fighting for that better, more equal and accepting world, turns out to be fighting a completely different battle.

When they are not fighting for acceptance, but to accept.

It hurts when concepts such as 'proper development', 'treating a neurological or physical disability', being 'confined to a wheelchair' and 'societal norms' are touted as facts and something that should go unchallenged. That the only body and mind worth having and the only body and mind that will give 'opportunities' in life are the kind of body and mind that have no impairments.

The rhetoric of ableism goes unquestioned, and has become the baseline. It hurts.

My child is not a project. She's my child. I don't want to try to 'fix' her to measure up to some arbitrary yardstick or adhere to some societal norm that's really baggage in disguise. Instead of saying "How high?" I want to ask "why?"

The world is my project, even if I can't change it in my lifetime, at least I'm trying to make a difference, a change for the better for everyone in the future.

Dear expectant parent with a prenatal Down syndrome diagnosis

I won't say that I know how you feel, because I don't. No one does.

To say that, would be unfair and dismissive of your feelings. It would suggest that my path would be your path too, when the truth is that there is no one solution. No one way.

However, what I can say is that I've been where you are now and that you are not alone.

I too was presented with a diagnosis. Mine came at 13 weeks of pregnancy, in the form of a grainy copy of FISH results from a Chorionic Villus Sampling. A couple of dots on a chart highlighted with neon-yellow. One line of text on the bottom.

"Female with Trisomy 21," the paper said.

It wasn't a big surprise. My husband and I had agreed to the CVS because an ultrasound had revealed that the fetus, my daughter, had edema and there was a cyst on her neck. The doctor was almost certain there was a chromosomal variation.

I had asked the doctor about termination and my rights (we were living in Mexico) prior to receiving the specific results, and in that smallish conference room with someone's laptop charging in the corner, I was presented with a choice: My daughter had Down syndrome and I could either terminate the pregnancy or continue.

The doctor would support whatever decision we made and either organize an abortion or bring in a geneticist.

To say that there was no choice for me, would be to tell a lie. I am pro-choice. I try to live ethically and with compassion. So I weighed my options. I was happy to have a choice. An informed choice. I considered and still consider myself one of the lucky ones. Not every woman gets to decide over their own body and life. I know I'm privileged.

In the week that had passed from the ultrasound to receiving the diagnosis, I had read everything I could find on Turner syndrome, Trisomies 13, 15 and 18, Cystic Fibrosis, and Down syndrome, although I'd felt I was already somewhat aware of the realities related to the last possibility. For my husband and I there was no fear, no unknown, just a fork in the road. Together we made a decision.

We, the adamantly atheist, educated, and rather rabidly pro-choice couple, felt that life with Down syndrome was no better or worse than a life without. Our daughter's life would be what we and she made of it - good, bad, brilliant or not, only time would tell.

We had decided we wanted to have a child. For us, that child having Down syndrome did not change our intent. I had read enough to know that life could and would be good, as normal as it ever was going to be for us, strange, unprecedented, wonderful, mundane, awkward, boring, exceptional, and everything in between.

Somehow, her having Down syndrome just added to the idea of her unique existence. While we were aware of the list of potential health issues related to Down syndrome, we were even more keenly aware of the fact that life in itself came with a laundry list of potential health issues, and that no one had ever escaped living without dying. Eventually. We understood that intellectual disability and developmental delays had nothing to do with worth, value, humanity, or what it means to be happy or lead a happy life.

We still feel the same.

I will not insult your intelligence by telling you that this diagnosis doesn't change the premise of your pregnancy or try to convince you that it shouldn't. Your mind might have already gone from wanted to unwanted. What I will tell you however, before you decide one way or the other, is that you should do so only after trying to understand what it really means to have a child with Down syndrome, and more importantly, what it means to have Down syndrome, what your child's life could and would be like. Look beyond the stereotypes, the list of 'what could go wrong', and the ignorance of those who will tell you that you'll end up with a child who'll never grow up. Attempt to find the reality. It's worth it, I swear.

What I will also tell you is that I know of no better feeling than the love I have for my kid, the feeling I get when she laughs at my singing, the warmth of her hand in mine when she's reaching for something new she's not quite sure about, the pride I have in her when she trots out into the world, fearless and fierce, and makes that world hers. She is everything to me and her father. She is the coolest, most excellent person I have ever met and I doubt that'll ever change.

She is our love. In her I found the meaning of real, earth-shattering love. But only because she is mine.

May your life be as happy as ours.

Life just... is.