At the time of high school - in my mind - my parents knew nothing about me, understood nothing about me, looked nothing like me, and when I used to scream at them "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ME!" I saw the hurt that I inflicted in the way they looked back at me silently. And while it felt good to physically scream and get it out of my system - the release was never something I was proud of or would brag to friends about. Unfortunately, genetics would never be someone we could slam against a brick wall and force the answers from.
There were many times when I was confused and at a loss for ways to connect with my parents. Mentally I knew that my differences from everyone else in the family weren't anyone's fault. I'd paid attention enough in Biology to know what a genetic mutation is, had passed the test about Punnet Squares; and yet somehow there still seemed to be this huge chasm that no one was making any effort to close. There were many nights in high school where I would think, aren't parents supposed to be making things easier for their children? Why is everything so difficult? Why does it need to be such a struggle just to get on to the other side, never mind have everyone see eye-to-eye?
It wasn't until I was half-way through college that the chasm began to close. It took me months away from home, a semester out of the state, a handful of fractures I never told them about, and many other things they probably didn't even know existed before I began to understand. (It might be awhile longer before I can verbalize that understanding though..) Now, instead of asking questions like "Why won't my parents let me get a permit when all my other friends are getting a permit?" These are the questions I have now:
- Where did you find the patience to deal with all of the medical care?
- How did you know to keep pushing me to be the best?
- What did you do when you were afraid?
- Why didn't you stop when everyone said "she can't?"
- What went through your mind when you found out there is no answer?
- Would you change anything that you did?
- What are your hopes for me and my brothers?
- Where did all of your resilience come from?
- What did you think about in the post-op family waiting room?
- Was it exciting or terrifying when you first held me?
- What are the things you are afraid of for me?
- Do you think you've done all that you could have for me as parents?
I can't answer any of those questions. Well, except for that last one. The answer to that last question is an unwavering and resounding "yes, you've done everything and more."
