“What’s it like to have a disabled Mom?”
“Why’s your mom in a wheelchair?”
“Where’s your mom?”
These are all questions I’ve been asked, usually by people who seem to believe children come with built in public relations training. People usually want one of two things: a tragic monologue or an inspirational speech. Unfortunately for them, real life is a lot less simple.
“How do you cope?”
Questions like these are the worst because they disguise curiosity as concern. They seem to think, “I can compare myself to someone whose life I believe is worse than mine, so I can leave feeling better about myself.” People lean forward when they ask these questions, the same way they lean toward a car accident, an abomination.
“I’m not sure; it’s normal for me.” I reply, “I mean, she loves me and she works hard. That’s all there is to say.”
“Oh,” I can see the click in their head that my mother is a living-breathing human being and not a token symbol of the orange ribbon. “I see; well, how do you deal with it?”
It’s like the last part of their sentence is in slow motion. Do they mean deal as if my mother was an “it,” or as if the scary MS gods were bestowing three more loads of groceries to bring in from the car.
“I don’t.”
This article was submitted by Weslee Rhodes, daughter of the Rev. Meg Rhodes, Rector of St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in Lee’s Summit.
