Life for me is never boring. I could use a little boredom now and then.

Consider:

My parents are deaf. When I was very young, I thought all adults were deaf. I thought inside the house everyone signed and outside the house everyone used their voices. I found out differently when we moved from one neighborhood to another and the new kids let me know my parents were "dumb".

I was born just about smack dab in the middle of the baby boom. When we moved to our new neighborhood, I went to the same elementary school as my cousins. That wasn't too bad...but then we were re-districted twice in 2 years and I developed a real fear of buses and bus drivers. I was positive they were going to get lost and I'd never get home again. Going to school right up through high school was always a big production, with me having daily melt downs for the first few months. I never did get to stay in just one school. When I was 10, we moved to Maryland. I spent 2 years in the neighborhood elementary school, 3 in the junior high, 2 in the high school annex in downtown Baltimore and another 2 in the high school complex. By the time I got to the last two years of high school I was an old pro at school jumping and didn't have such a hard time anymore...well, not until the lunatic ran through the school with a butcher knife anyway.

Growing up with deaf parents is definitely different, especially if you are the oldest. Although my parents managed just fine on their own until I was about 5 or 6, afterwards they'd look to me for help--what's going on, what should we do, and what have you. The older I got the more I got the "you're hearing, you know " line and that's why they needed me to tell them what was going on and what to do. Pretty big responsibility for a kid. I was the one who got to tell my parents about the deaths of my grandparents and uncle when I was 10. I hated Western Union (we didn't have a phone then) because every time we got a telegram, it would say "Call home" and that meant we'd have to go to the pay phone to find out who died.

At the same time I was being given this weird sort of respect as a hearing person and also being "buttered up" (We can depend on you, you understand deaf people) I also had to deal with the guilt of being able to hear. The other messages I got were that hearing people always take advantage of deaf people and don't let them advance. Hearing people always make fun of deaf people behind their backs. Hearing people always cheat deaf people. Many times my parents--particularly my mother--would accuse me of "taking advantage" because I could hear and they couldn't. That meant editing phone calls, keeping the truth from them, getting away with stuff I wouldn't have been able to if they could hear...and on and on. There's some truth to that of course.

I was very confused, not deaf and yet not all hearing. I was different from normal hearing kids with hearing parents. I thought differently and played differently. I was too loud, clomping around because there was no one to tell me to walk quietly. I talked to loud, lisped, and mispronounced words like Phoenix and saccharine. I'd say Foe-nix and sax-a-ryn, like my parents did. The other kids laughed their asses off. I was sort of a goodie-goodie who had a belief I was a baddie-baddie because I was hearing. That meant I was one of "them", one of those who took advantage of deaf people. Yet they trusted me because I "understood". No wonder I was confused.

On top of all that, my parents drank...and fought each other--physically. Once it was so bad my younger brother and I had to run next door to hide. Our neighbors took us in and we sort of looked at each other uncomfortably. We could hear the parents screaming and beating on each other through the walls. In those days, though, neighbors minded their own business and didn't call the police.

When I was old enough, I got out of there. My relationship with people was sort of warped, superficial. I was afraid to get close to anyone but once I did, I moved in too close and ended up ruining relationships and friendships. By the time I was 25, I was pretty sure I would never marry, never have children.

But then I met my first husband, Rich. I won't say we had a perfect relationship or marriage. We fought like cats and dogs, unfairly and said hurtful things to each other. But we were like two pieces of a broken whole and we called ourselves soul mates. By the time he died, we really were soul mates. Early into our marriage, he had congestive heart failure and we learned that he had Marfan syndrome. Now, who would have thought that? We'd just had a baby, were into a new home and had just bought a new car--who would have ever anticipate anything like that?

There was the emergency heart surgery and the surprise pregnancy and the "death sentence" from the doctor. He won't live past five years, the doctor said. Don't have any more children with this man. Well, ho ho, I'd just become pregnant with my older daughter! And, as it turns out, a "miracle" occurred that year and my husband made an amazing rebound that shocked the doctor.

But did all that stress have an affect on my second pregnancy or did my daughter just inherit an enhanced difficult temperament from me? My experience with all 3 of my kids is totally different and that's to be expected but ...

My son, the oldest, the one who was just 6 months old when Rich had heart failure, was a sweet, loving, easy to care for child.

My older daughter was always a challenge. She didn't ever take well to changes in plan, was sensitive to sounds and lights and certain textues and she'd have easy and complete total meltdowns. She became even more challenging once the youngest was born.

The youngest is like the best qualities of the older two.

Around the time the older two began elementary school, though, other issues began to come up. My son was always a dreamy very bright kid who used to have a big circle of friends. Once he got into first and second grade, though, they began to drop away. I noticed he spoke in a sort of monotone with little inflection and always used these big words kids didn't understand. Meanwhile, his sister (16 months younger) was busy exploding in her class.

After evaluations, we were told that son had ADHD--with some possible Asperberger's Syndrome thrown in--and that daughter had generalized anxiety and depression.

My God, I wondered, what have I done to bring all this stuff on? Boy, I was really beating myself up. I felt like I'd brought a curse down on my family--my husband with a life threatening condition and now the two kids with these behavior issues...yet at the same time professionals were telling me that I was a good mom and doing all the right things and had the right instincts and blah blah blah...

so why was all this stuff happening? I read a book called When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Rabbi Harold Kushner. It helped a little for a while. I felt less guilty. But now I've forgotten everything the book said...I'll have to read it again.

Then Rich's company decided to close the Maryland office. At least he kept his job...they asked us to move back to New York and so we did. Less than 2 years later, Rich died one night ... quite unexpectedly. Actually, I should have seen it coming but more about that later.

It wasn't enough that he'd suffered from a heart condition and had been in pain and it wasn't enough we'd struggled through almost insurmountable financial disasters. No, now he had to die too.

Angry? Bitter? Heartbroken? Oh yeah!

But after a year, I was starving for a male's perspective and touch. I have wonderful, dear friends who were all supportive but none of them had been widowed. You really don't know what it's like until you stand in a widow's shoes.

Anyway, I met TB online and to make a long story short, we got married and I uprooted my kids to bring them to NJ. I found out that TB had been living a variation of my life too. I guess this stuff happens to everyone, eh? Some get rained on a little longer or a little harder than others but no one has an easy ride.

TB has two adult daughters from his first marriage--his wife died from primary pulmonary hypertension the same year as Rich passed. One daughter left home at 16, had 2 children with a man almost 10 years her senior, married him, had two more kids and lives now in TN. They struggle and live pay check to pay check. She is facing a very similar situation as me--her husband developed adult muscular dystrophy.

The younger ... she was molested when she was just 5 by a church elder. She seems to be like a 12 year old in an adult's body with all the sense and sensibilities of a preteen. She is actually 25. She was in a long term relationship with a guy she labelled abusive and had a baby boy with him.

She and the little guy are living with us. The little guy is 3 years old today and does not speak. He's been evaluated by several doctors and has been labelled PDD-NOS. The little guy and I have a very close relationship and I just love him to pieces. He gets my complete attention especially with the other grandkids so far away. Today is his first day of school.

Melodrama...it just never ends.



More later...