One day, my 4 year old son woke up earlier than normal and beat me out of bed. I woke up an hour earlier than normal too, despite only falling asleep one hour before, and I got up immediately, because I just had that awful feeling that something wasn't right.
I ended up wishing I'd never fallen asleep. Brendan had managed to break the child locks on the cupboards and emptied them - spreading the contents all over the house. Almost every plate, cup, saucepan, piece of cutlery and cooking utensil had to be found and washed.
He took a sharp knife, scissors, or similar sharp item, and slashed up the lounges, emptying the feathery contents of the cushions all over the room. He got into the fridge and food cupboards, smashed eggs all over the house, and used all the vegemite, jam, peanut butter, and margarine as finger-paint all over the walls, windows, and cupboards. Even if he had gotten out of bed within minutes of my falling asleep, it only took him barely an hour to wreak this level of destruction, and he did so with a remarkable stealth and silence. When I found him I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream, as he was running around in the back yard naked, except for a pair of my boots on his feet which came up to his hips, my handbag over his shoulder (the contents of which were spread all over the back yard), my glasses on his face (which were now buckled and broken) and lipstick (which I assume he found in my handbag) drawn all over him.
He had the biggest happy grin on his face and seemed quite proud of his redecorating efforts. My reaction ended up being to calmly take him back inside, bath him and clean him up. I got him dressed as I got Aidan out of bed and dressed for school. I took Aidan to school and put in a lunch order for him, took Brendan to childcare, went home and cleaned up what I could, before going to school myself. Then I realized that none of us had breakfast that morning. I fell in a screaming heap later on that day. At this point in time, it was becoming a typical day for me. It was horrible. I had no help, I was stressed to the max, and most of the time I was alone with my children. I couldn’t sleep for fear of what Brendan might do if he woke up during the night.
I started suffering memory loss, having periods of shut-down where I would space out like I was drunk or drugged, and even started having epileptic-like seizures. Trying to look after my children under these circumstances was nigh impossible. Brendan needed help and I tried for too long to get some for him. He had a severe speech disorder and a severe behavioral disorder - or at least that’s what his diagnosis was in the end. At one point, before I was able to get him into childcare, I even called the Child Abuse Report Line and blatantly told them that if someone didn't take my child away for a few hours to give me some relief, I was afraid I might end up seriously harming him - if he didn't kill me or his brother first.
All of a sudden I had referrals and home assistance offers from every direction. Thanks to a letter that was sent, there was also special space suddenly available at the childcare centre for him. However, at the end of an over a year long rollercoaster of appointments, assessments, and trialing more methods than I care to remember; because he could put together a jigsaw puzzle beyond his age, he didn't qualify for anything other than an hour of speech therapy once a fortnight and extra hours in childcare. So, as a last ditch effort, it was organized for him to go to the USA, as his grandparents there could get him the special help, therapy, and schooling that he needed.
It is now eighteen months later. His speech has improved, though he still has a long way to go. He is starting to read and write, count, and he still puts together jigsaw puzzles far beyond his age. He still has the occasional tantrum when he can’t get his own way, but is far improved in that area as well. Back at home, I am much more relaxed. Aidan no longer has anything to fear and can enjoy playing with his toys without them getting smashed and thrown around. He can bring home the school work he put so much effort into without worrying about it being destroyed, and his school work has improved significantly. Aidan and I no longer look like victims of domestic violence with all the cuts and bruises. I no longer have to keep my house locked up like Fort Knox lest Brendan escape and run away (which was another common problem). I can sleep at night.
My previous home still has a lot of damage that needed to be repaired at the time that I sold it, but now I can live in my new house and not have to worry about where I'm going to find the money to fix things around the place. Brendan, once he no longer needs the extreme level of help that he currently does, will hopefully return to us. Everything is working out right, and if I had to make the same decision again I would. Ironically in moving to another city I have since found that things have recently improved and I could get the help he needed here, but it wasn't available at the time he left, so my decidion at the time was still the best option at the time. Although he could now come back and get the help here, he is settled where he is and doing so well, I'm not so keen on disrupting his development again at this stage.
I have had many people criticize me for sending my child to live with caring relatives that could help him on the other side of the planet. Many seemed to have the attitude that it would be more detrimental for him. Many thought I was trying to take the easy way out, that I was giving up. Some accused me of being negligent, that all his problems were my fault, I was a bad parent, and I hadn’t tried hard enough to help him or get help for him.
However, despite the opinions of those people that thought I was doing the wrong thing, my closest friends that fully knew my situation believed I was doing the right thing. This, and my own belief that I was doing the best thing I could for him at the time, is what kept me going. This decision was not made lightly, and it was heartbreaking to see my son leave. If I thought for a moment that there was a better way, I would have taken it.
I would recommend to anyone that was having problems with other people’s attitudes towards any decision made to improve their children’s lives, that they seriously consider the following things:
1. Is the decision being made with the best interests of the child/ren being the first and foremost priority, regardless of how others, including yourself, may feel?
2. Is the decision really the best available option for the child/ren?
3. Is the person making the negative judgement against you and your decision, unable to fully understand the situation?
4. Is there no likely possibility of any other options, that are just as good or better, becoming available in the near future?
5. Do the potential positive outcomes outweigh the potential negative outcomes?
6. Is it unlikely that you may seriously regret the decision in the future and wish a different course of action had been taken instead?
If the honest answers to all of these questions are yes, then you have made the right decision, and what anyone else thinks of that, or of you, is not important. If we are going to prioritise what other people think of us over the needs of our children, we need to give up parenting and take up politics. Our children should be our first priority and the most important thing in our lives, no matter what other people may think.
(August 2007) (
Karen
