I haven't posted on this blog for over three months. I just haven't felt like it.
Well, that is not completely true. When the problem with my daughter came about, the focus of this blog changed. The political of differences in world view between my wife and I became less important. I hoped that this blog would be more about dealing with our situation and would provide information to other stay at home dads and those dealing with one mentally handicapped twin. A somewhat small set of people.
I hoped that this blog would provide information and support. I hoped it would provide hope.
And that is the real reason for a lack of posting. The truth is I have not been very hopeful these last few months. In fact, I have been depressed. More depressed than I have been anytime in my life.
I think I am a generally upbeat person, more about getting on with it than wallowing in mistakes or situations that I could not change. I recognize now that there have been difficult times in the past that have affected me. But never has it been this bad.
The truth is I am not interested in getting up in the morning. Each day is exactly the same. Get up, change babies, stop one of them from doing various things, encouraging others, feed them, make dinner, put them to bed. Repeat until death. In fact, I have spent more time in escapist pursuits, such as reading, to make me forget about my situation. In fact, I am like a crack addict, my life being counted out between "hits", except my hits are those times when I can forget that my life is all about menial tasks that never end, and will never end because one of my children will never be able to take care of herself in any way.
I have more respect for my stay at home mom than ever. I don't know how she did it and I have felt many times over the past few months that I cannot. I always thought I would be a good father. Staying home and looking after the children has made me question that.
In addition to constantly questioning my fitness as a parent, there is Jocelyn. I can't help but be depressed every time I think about her. With what limited mental capacity she has, I can still see a personality there. All I can think about is the lost potential of her life. And the close sister that Katherine is missing out on. The unique experience of having an identical twin, which should have been a wonderful experience for both of them, is gone.
And then, in moments of my own selfishness, I think of myself. The one thing about having kids and going through all this with them is the thought that they will eventually grow up. I can survive a few years of changing diapers and blowing runny noses if there is light at the end of the tunnel. Except there is no light. Jocelyn will never grow up. For the rest of my life or hers, I will be looking after an infant. The only release from this obligation will be death of one of us. Since if I die I won't care about getting my life back, the only way my family will ever be normal is if she does. And it is a likely occurrence. Most kids in her situation survive five or ten years. So, my salvation from a life of being responsible for every aspect of my child's life is her death. I hate thinking this. Yet I cannot imagine what life would be like without her and I would miss her terribly. So, release from this obligation means a giant hole in my life and the guilt that some part of me, however small, wished for it to happen. Or I can continue to have this obligation, with no end in sight and the feelings that go along with it.
I have heard how often some people, after many years of life, are accepting of death. Either they feel they have lived a good life or welcome death as a release from pain, physical or emotional. I never understood that. I always thought that I would want to live forever, always interested in what might happen next and in seeing everything there might be to see in this universe.
Not anymore.
