Far From the Tree

I have been reading a most compelling book about children who are not like their parents - gay, dwarf, schizophrenic, downs, autistic, transgender. It is called "Far from the Tree" by Andrew Solomon. I had to stop reading because of language, but not before I recorded some quotes:

This book's conundrum is that most of the families described here have ended up grateful for experiences they would have done anything to avoid.

Deaf people were considered moronic - hence our use of the word dumb to describe idiocy - but such limitations were the result of denying them language.

She loves and is loved well, as I had hoped.

(Thinking of aborting a fetus known to be a dwarf) The psychologist was saying that either way, there's always going to be a moment when you regret your decision.

For six months, Emily (the mom) would cry herself to sleep. "I almost drowned him in the tears I shed over him."

Perhaps the most insidious stress is the social isolation that can ensure when friends retreat, or when parents withdraw from friends' pity or incomprehension. the birth of a healthy child usually expands the parents' social network; the birth of a child who is disabled often constricts that network.

Susan Allport, an authority on maternal attachment, writes that in nondisabled populations "it is not parent providing care to helpless young but parent and young, together, performing carefully synchronized, ruthlessly selected dances of reproduction and survival. The newborn is born knowing its steps, but, like all ballroom dancers, it must have a partner.

I'm reminded of a friend who said that when she found out her husband couldn't fill her needs, she changed her needs; they've had a long, good life together.

People always regale us with these little sayings, like, 'God doesn't give you any more than you can handle.' But children like ours are not preordained as a gift. They're a gift because that's what we have chosen.

From the Essay, "Welcome to Holland"

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.