Serendipitous Girl

  It is ironic how one little word can have a variety of connotations. How one simple word can prompt your heart to sink or make it soar. Normal. What is normal? For years, we shunned normalcy. Normal is boring, be you, whatever you are. Why attempt to live your life fitting into a box society believes you should be in when you were born to stand beside it in all your glorious self? We adopted this mantra as we navigated raising an adolescent with mental illness. An adolescent who desired to be anything but himself. The mantra, which seemed to suit Jayde-Rhiannon, was from a favorite book, “My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage." Having been raised to believe that fitting in was necessary, I wanted the opposite for my children. I wanted them to understand it was all right to be who they were, never fearing to say what they felt. This would come back to bite me many times as their personali...

She is graciously composed. Inside, dying to scream at someone. Anyone. The entire world. Her misty eyes speak a thousand words. Words only I can hear. Though she is hesitant, she is learning to speak out, allowing her voice to empower her. When she cannot, I am her voice. I am her advocate. There is nothing I would not do to remove her pain and the torture of the many tiny needles. The nurses fully adopt the mantra, if at first you don't succeed try, try again. It's time to bring in the backup nurses. This is where I pointedly remind my seventeen-year-old, in front of the frustrated crew assembled before her, "This is YOUR body. Only you get to decide when you've had enough." Today, it only took three nurses to progress. This is why an IV team is necessary. It will not be long before clouds of blue and purple reach the surface of her translucent skin, another blunt reminder of her body's inadequacy. She stares out into nothing as the music plays on. For today...