Tears (and disabled children)

One thing that seriously naffs me off, is when people talk about parents of disabled children experiencing bereavement.  I think it’s careless, pat, unreflective and unhelpful.  Some may, of course. Fair enough. But I suspect an awful lot don’t.

I think the everyday rules and sense of order, predictability and certainty disappear when you find out you’ve landed a speshy.  These rules/order revolve around ‘mainstream’ lives, not the lives of families with eel children.  And I think there is a sadness. A deep sadness, that is made up of all sorts of different things. Anyway, this got me thinking about tears and how much I’ve cried since LB was born.

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“A picture of Mum?”

One thing that doesn’t happen so much now that Laughing Boy is sixteen, is endless (often meaningless) appointments with professionals.  Countless hours have been spent travelling, waiting and meeting a range of different people in different settings.  One series of appointments, four years ago,  was with a psychologist geezer (Psych Sid*) about LB’s ‘challenging’ behaviour.  These appointments seemed particularly pointless as Psych didn’t want LB present.   Continue reading