07.11.17

People come and go. It’s how the world works. We understand its fluidity, constant motion, however subtle and slow. In our world, our daughter’s world especially, constancy is crucial though. And sometimes we just want to stay still for a while. Despite our best efforts, unfortunately it’s not always possible.

The other day one of the carers left suddenly without warning. Our daughter had no goodbye, take care, it’s been nice knowing you kind of thing. Nothing. It wasn’t nice at all. And it left us, my partner and I, with a bitter taste. Our daughter wasn’t able to express how she felt about it.

It seemed to us there was no thought from this person as to how our daughter might feel at not seeing them again after so many months of getting to know each other and building rapport, so many shared experiences and fun times together. Yes, there’d been wobbly moments too in recent times, but nothing insurmountable – or so we’d thought. Our girl was not given the chance to bid them adieu, shake hands, acknowledge the parting.

We’ve always liked to believe, had to believe in fact, that people who choose to work with vulnerable people such as our daughter at the very least understand the importance of respect of, and sensitivity to, their charges. Whatever their beef or changed circumstances, they shouldn’t take it out on the people they are paid to care for and support.  We are learning it’s not always so, sadly.

Our daughter takes time to adjust to new people and surroundings and find her feet. When she does, there’s no stopping her. Beginnings can be hard for her and inevitably entail careful planning, adjustment and enormous effort. Endings are a different kettle of fish. They are invisible and hard to grasp. When they occur we ask ourselves what should we do with them? What can we do?

She meanwhile is resilient and gets on with her life in the best way she can. No going over things again and again for her it seems, and no wondering how she could have done them differently or better. At least as far as we know.

The other day we were out and about as usual and bumped into somebody from our daughter’s college days whom we hadn’t seem for several years. It’s true we all look older and somewhat rougher round the edges than we used to. General wear and tear you’d call it I suppose, and the after effects of many an adventure in the intervening years. It took us a second or two to acknowledge each other.

Our girl took a while longer. Then she positively beamed, showing how delighted she was at seeing this woman who had been such an important, albeit transient, figure in her life for a couple of years. It was clear she remembered her fondly and was able to tell her so. There was a lot to catch up on.

While our daughter was not given the opportunity by her erstwhile carer to express any feelings she had on her abrupt departure, she will most definitely have registered the event. It’s our job as her parents to ensure she has ample opportunity, space and time to give voice, as it were, to her thoughts and feelings, and to remain vigilant to any subtle changes which potentially affect the stability in her life that we strive to maintain.

It’s getting close to bedtime. We are watching a film together, a love story of sorts, not the usual comedy. The young protagonist is ceremoniously dumped by his girlfriend. “But I love her,” he says. Our daughter cries.

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