One For My Blog (L*pogram)

That last argument had been awful. Truly awful. Esther trembles, and dabs her eyes.

Everyone says teenagers are hard to parent. Esther has found that to be true. Even more so lately. Nessa never used to challenge her so much. Surely puberty was to blame. Nessa would settle down eventually, and go back to her old self, only more mature. Esther looked forward to that. To the day (soon, hopefully!) the bond between them could be mended. For now Nessa had to undergo change, growth. Hormones needed to rage. Of course that was hard. Of course she would lash out somewhat. Test the waters. Push every boundary. Be moody. Sleep a lot. Rebel. All that. Normal. Yes?

Esther tells herself that, but couldn't stop the tears. She knuckled them away. Be strong!

Nessa's last words echoed round Esther's head. Cruel. Each one a stab to her heart.

You're not my real mum... Esther's heart had threatened to break when Nessa screamed that at her. That was true, sort of, and yet not true at all. Maybe she had not grown and borne her from her body, as most mothers do, but she'd been a mother to her all the same. She had nurtured Nessa from babyhood. Worked herself to the bone for her. She had fought for doctors to treat the problems Nessa had, heck, even to see them! As any mother would, she had been steadfast through Nessa's paroxysms. The doctors, even today, hadn't been able to work out what caused them. Esther thought on that for a moment, then Nessa's words came back to her once more, to reverberate around her skull and torment her.

You've wrecked my whole l-

CRACK!

Esther had struck her daughter then, before the ungrateful teen could complete the ghastly sentence. She had regretted the smack at once. The palm of her hand burned from the force of the slap. An ugly red mark blossomed across Nessa's cheek, and shame, just as ugly, bloomed beneath Esther's heart. Shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have shouldn't have shouldn't have...

Mothers such as us have to be tough, Esther tells herself, as she has done before. Often, actually. Frequently over the last several years. To parent a son or daughter who has challenges and needs the way Nessa has, means she had to be more severe than other parents.

Say a youngster has Type 1 D.M and can't tolerate lots of sugary snacks. That problem can largely be controlled by the food they eat, but those parents must be watchful and stern, even harsh every so often. When the young person asks for more sweets, her mother and father must say No. They must not waver. They can't! No matter the tears and tantrums. To cave could spell catastrophe. Even death.

Esther reflected on how, as a lone parent, the job has been so much tougher. No one to tag team when stuff got hard.

All the same, to see Nessa's absolute surety that her own mother had destroyed so much... To Nessa's eyes, her mum had devastated her youth, her health, her self-esteem, her chance for a normal adolesence. All those adventures most teenagers take for granted, never taken, never enjoyed.

For Esther to know that Nessa blamed all that completely on her... To see those thoughts dawn on her, coalesce, become stamped on her features... That cut Esther deeply. Tore her up. More so because Esther had enjoyed so long the luxury of Nessa's trust. Nessa swallowed whatever Esther handed to her. Any tablet, any drug. Any half-truth, any excuse...

A thread of control had just tumbled from Esther's grasp. Her task would be so much harder now.

...not a baby anymore, mother... don't need you! That one really hurt. Maybe the most. Esther dabbed her eyes once more. "But she does!" she thought savagely. That's the truth of the matter, to be a mother to someone whose health, sadly, can never be as robust as other people's. A normal mother looks forward to the day her young ones are capable and can fend for themselves... But for us, for mothers such as me... there's no end to the job. We face the fact that we must support our sons and daughters long term.

Even normal adolescents don't understand: no matter how tall they grow, a mother sees always that dear, helpless baby. The one she wrapped her arms around and rocked to sleep. The angel she soothed and loved and wept for. How much more so for Nessa and others who have so many challenges? She'll always be my baby. My baby, oh my baby.

Ms Esther Swanson, you're under arrest for aggravated abuse of your daughter, Vanessa Swanson....

The back seat of the panda car feels stuffy and unpleasant. Esther leans back, rolls her head to the left to stare out at the grey, gloomy day. The clouds and downpour match her mood. She wonders whether the other law enforcement had found the rest of her stash yet. The Cupboard where she prepared Nessa's drugs, crushed up tablets, measured doses. She'd had to get clever for some of them. One of them was actually for dogs. And, as Nessa grew older, she'd got more sharp-eyed, more apt to query, "That's new. What does that one do? Does Dr Jacobs really want me to take three of these?" Esther had also carefully peeled off or restuck labels.

Esther stares out at the wet weather. What's next for me? Drops batter the glass and flow down by turns. Maybe the turn of events does not mean the end after all. Could be a great entry for my blog. She ponders names for essays she could pen about what has happened. What angle should she take? What would garner her the most support from her many followers? Maybe, "My Desperate Struggle To Treat My Daughter As She Needs". Or, "The State Don't Trust Parents!" Yes. That could work. That could work very well. Esther wonders whether she can access the Net from gaol.