Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star

Summer, 2002: With only the youngest of my eight children still at home, I called my mother. The conversation went something like this: "Mother, I am so glad I still have Angela at home. I'm just not ready to not have children." I had always loved being a mother, even when all eight of my kids lived at home. Raising a large family had been a continual juggling act, but now I had the time and energy to be the perfect mother to one easy, sweet-natured teenager. Angela was just starting high school, so I had three years before facing the empty nest syndrome I preferred would never happen. In June of that year I remarried. With Angela at her father's for the summer, I was carefree with few concerns. I went dancing with my new husband, enjoyed site-seeing on his Harley, and settled into his home, all while doing a lot of reorganizing to make room for Angela and myself in his home. I was apprehensive about being in someone else's space, but it was a nice home and I was optimistic about our future.

Yet, change was in the air. I could feel it; I could smell it; I could almost touch it. Then in late August, my daughter Kayla gave birth in Texas to Grace who was premature and weighed only two pounds. I flew to Houston to help take care of siblings Myah, eighteen months old, and Lindsey, four years old, for a couple of weeks until I found ladies from a church group to help Kayla with the children. I will never forget the first time I saw Grace, sleeping in an incubator in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), hooked to tubes and by then weighing only 1 ½ lbs. Grace was fragile and looked breakable. I was afraid to even touch her for fear of hurting her. "It's really not scary Mom," Kayla had said, as she gently reached in and touched Grace's hand. But every time I tried to touch the newborn treasure, I felt panic and couldn't breathe.

I had never seen such a tiny baby, so I just watched this most amazing twinkling little star who became a most precious diamond in my world. After two weeks, I returned home. Angela was starting a new high school and I was certain she needed her mother.

October, 2002: The simplicity of being a mother to one child was about to change. The phone rang; it was Kayla. The course of my life was about to change for the next several years. Due to unfortunate circumstances, Kayla needed my help with the girls. Grace was now two months old and finally ready to leave the hospital. I immediately left home and drove from Virginia to Texas and brought back with me three little granddaughters: Grace, almost five pounds and on a heart monitor, two-year-old Myah, and four-year-old Lindsey. Kayla, holding back the tears from a breaking heart, helped me load the children and their belongings into my car. Lindsey got off to a rough start. After we finished loading, Kayla headed back to her apartment, desperately needing to get out of sight. Lindsey insisted, "Mommy did not give me a bye kiss. I want a hug and a kiss. I want Mommy to give me a bye kiss." I assured Lindsey, "Your Mommy gave you kisses and hugs." She insisted she didn't get a bye kiss. I insisted she did. We could not have forgotten hugs and kisses. I felt certain we must have remembered the necessary and proper good-byes amidst the feeling of chaos. As I did not want to redo all of the painful good-byes, we started the drive with Lindsey in tears. Frequent stops were required to feed and change Grace, along with changing pull-ups for Myah and Lindsey. Myah spoke not a word the entire trip. In fact, I didn't even know she could already talk. She also did not cry at all. She was just eerily silent. I didn't quite know what to make of it. I did not know then that her total silence was the sign of a traumatized child. Meanwhile, Lindsey talked non-stop, repeating the same incomplete sentence about her daddy the entire three day trip. I didn't want to tell her to be quiet because I knew she was deeply traumatized. Even if I had tried to quiet her, I would not have succeeded in controlling her obsession with her daddy. We stopped frequently; and every time we did, it always took at least an hour, even just to get gas. After three long days of fast food, motels, and gas stations, my nerves were rattled as I pulled into my driveway, totally exhausted. However, the hard part had just begun; I had no idea how I was going to manage everything, but like other grandparents who faced the same situation, I did not hesitate. Kayla had been diligent in providing me with a power of attorney for the children, the children's birth certificates, and their social security cards. She wanted to make sure I had everything I needed to properly care for the children and to get all possible services that might be available for them.

The first year was the most difficult for everyone. Initially, I had to get the children signed up for Medicaid. Because we were grandparents, the children qualified for Medicaid. At least that was the case in Virginia. It was very important that I applied immediately, as the hospital in Houston would not even release Grace to me until they were certain that I had made a doctor's appointment for her. She needed to be seen immediately upon arriving at her new home. The first medical appointment was with our family practitioner, who was wonderful. This was followed by many appointments for Grace with a neonatologist, a pediatric cardiologist, and even with a pediatric ophthalmologist. Throughout a blistery cold winter, an infant carrier in my right hand and the heart monitor in my left, bundled up, I trudged from the house to the car, from the car to the hospital, and home again, sometimes with Lindsey and Myah in tow. Tucked away in the diaper bag was the power of attorney that gave me permission to do all of this. Eventually, I provided all medical providers with the legal custody papers; but until then, they accepted what I had. Feeding Grace every three hours 24/7 for a year took its toll, as I was going through menopause at the same time. Many nights I woke up to the screaming of the heart monitor. I would get up, make sure Grace was breathing properly, reset the monitor, change my nightgown because it was soaked from night sweats, and go back to sleep - until I needed to feed her again. Often I strapped the baby to me in a front infant sling and carried the monitor on my left shoulder as I took care of Myah and Lindsey. Even after the heart monitor was discontinued, Grace was often attached to me with the baby sling.

For obvious reasons, I was not sleeping well. When I did sleep, I had nightmares. I dreamt I was missing my plane, riding backwards on a bus, or was simply lost. I was exhausted. I had a hard time keeping up with my home-based business, which required extensive computer use, the normal tedious chores of housework, and helping the little ones adjust to a new life without their mother. This proved particularly difficult for Lindsey.

During one of Grace's visits to the pediatric cardiologist when she was about seven months old, I placed her on the patient bed and stepped back while the doctor listened to her heart. As I backed away, she started to cry. My instinct was to immediately reach for her, but I resisted and stood back. The doctor was actually pleased that she cried. What? Maybe he was interested in the strength of her lungs. I didn't know. I questioned his pleasure. "This is good to see," he...