Some Stage of Grieving

I was talking to my friend, Margaret the other day.   She and I talk about all sorts of things, with my daughter being a frequent, recurring topic.   My daughter absolutely loves Margaret.   Margaret has a calm, reassuring manner and my daughter just feels comfortable and happy being with her.

One of the things Margaret and I talk about is scheduling our “foot toilet” (pedicure) date with my daughter.  Schedules have worked against us, with the weekdays being taken up by school and the weekends filled with events for both of us.   But I can assure you, my daughter has most certainly not forgotten about that promise of a pedicure with Margaret.    We’ve told her we haven’t either and she understands being patient is something we all have to work on.

Margaret said something to me the other day when we were talking about my daughter’s vision loss.   I can’t remember if I was talking about discussing the latest with family or how we try to not bring it to the attention of strangers unless it was necessary—basically helping my daughter have the most normal life as possible.

It’s hard to tell the story of how she lost her sight to someone though.   I was on the phone with my insurance agent today, someone I’ve worked with for many years, and she didn’t know.   So I told the story again.   I’m good at the three minute rundown and I always put a positive spin on it because it is a sad thing to hear.   No one wants to hear about a four-year-old suddenly losing her vision and all the medical intervention she’s had to go through.   But I tell it a positive light about how my daughter is very happy (she is) and doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest that she can’t do something we all take for granted.

Margaret said something that struck me though.   She said all of our friends and family are in some stage of grieving over her loss.   I think that’s true, but I hadn’t thought of it in those words.  It’s sad.   It’s a shame.   Will she get any of her sight back?  Unfortunately, no, she hopefully won’t lose more.   It hurts.  And it hurts us all in a way that can only affect an adult who understands the true implications and the scope of the loss.

Am I grieving?  Possibly at times.   Sometimes it’s just a phrase from someone like, “how did I not see that, I must be blind.”  Or a television show that has a close up of an eye in their intro (you wouldn’t believe how many shows have eyes in their intros.)  Maybe it’s hearing about the great time friends had on a vacation that makes no sense for our family because my daughter can’t experience what they did well.  I think that affects all of us who are close to my daughter in our own ways sometimes.

I always remember that my daughter is happy.   She’s killer at braille, can navigate without a cane for the most part now and has friends.   She’ll grow up happy and have a good life, even if it’s a life we can’t imagine because we can see.

The Big Boy Update:  My son was on his iPad last week and I asked him what he was watching.  He said what I thought was, “YouToop”.   I asked him about it and he did in fact think it was YouToop.   I explained that it was YouTube and had to go into a complicated explanation about tube-based televisions because he’s never seen one.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter’s school released early today for inclement weather.   She got home, took her shoes off and put her socks in the laundry basket.   Then she lay on her back with her legs in the air and wiggled her toes around.   I asked her, “how are your toes?”   She informed me, “they’re ready for action”.