My Sister vs Society

I introduce you to my sister, cute isn’t she?

In life we come across moments that move us in ways that are bound to redefine our whole being, sometimes these moments are so profound that we know right away that from this point on we will never see things the same way. Some moments are more progressive, like a slow release pill deploying its remedy to various aspects of your life, changing you and the way you view the world, altering the way you behave internally and externally, a continuous cyclical cycle improving you in ways you would have never done on your own. My sister’s birth was such a moment, I could have never predicted her impact on me at the time. First because no one in our family has any precognitive talents and second because I was only five years old.

Playing, isn’t that what being a kid is all about?

As most young children the thought of having a younger brother or sister is extremely exciting. At that age this excitement has nothing to do with the thought of a future support network or another family member that you can hopefully share many memorable moments with and more to do with having a constant friend in your house for an endless sleepover. You imagine all the games you’ll be able to play together, the laughs and the memories that would come from having a constant companion through your journey as a child, these are the thoughts that come from children expecting a sibling and I was no different. I was overjoyed to learn that I would no longer be the only child in the household, my mind exploded with all the possibilities that now lay in my future.

My proud father with his baby daughter.

I faintly remember asking my mother if I could touch her stomach to feel my sister, resting my hand against her I made promises to always be there, to be the best brother, to protect her. I would make promises without much thought into how I was going to deliver on them, quite normal for a five year old I would say. As a parent I can only imagine the overwhelming emotions involved in seeing your child respond in such a positive way to their new family member. I look forward to such a day where I can be privy to such moments, they will no doubt be among my most cherished.

When we were young there was no sibling rivalries.

Lying awake at night I would imagine our adventures together and the kinship we would develop as we pitted our might against the evils in the world. I couldn’t imagine my parents giving me a better gift, the gift of life while not completely in our hands remains as one to be cherished and nurtured for all of eternity. Life being as free flowing and unbound as I have come to know it has a way of breaking free of anyone’s best laid plans however, the stories that unfolded in my mind as a child never did come to pass. This was a hard lesson that I apparently needed to learn on more than one occasion, even as an adult I would conveniently forget my past only to be reminded time and time again that plans, control and safety are all illusions we as a species have created to ease our mind from the fact that life’s dominant characteristic is unpredictability.

My sister loves camping, probably because these were the types of vacations we did as a family.

Memories of my mother during this time are aglow with a motherly aura, she is the best mother I have come to know bar none. Even to this day this one fact still remains true, she was born to be a mother and her actions for the duration of my life have served only to show me what pure and unchained love really is. I didn’t need TV or movies to show me some mock representation of what a mother was capable of, why women are truly better equipped to make the world a better place than men. I have a mother that has spent the entirety of my life proving this fact day in and day out. I could go at lengths writing about the wonders of my mother and no doubt surely will, for now just know that being with child once again was a gift my mother treasured. Her commitment to this child would be as strong if not stronger than her first and with good reason.

Baby Éliane

When the day finally came my parents were ecstatic, there is one element however that I was told recently that was somewhat comical. My mother recounted her second pregnancy, she admitted that it was smooth sailing until she got to the hospital to deliver at which point she remembered how painful the first was. With the pain now fresh in her mind she informed the nurses and doctors with a loud voice how she had now changed her mind and she didn’t want to go through another birth. However like the trooper she is she buckled down, bore the pain and gave birth to my sister while my father took pictures, I don’t think my mother was impressed with this last bit. When I came to see my mother and meet my sister for the first time she informed me of her name, Éliane. Quite a fitting name, it apparently means daughter of the sun and there is no one more radiant than my mother. I doubt very much my parents chose the name because of its meaning however and simply found it suited her. Visiting a mother and child in the hospital are the types of trips I enjoy making there, all the baby shawarmas in their little blue or pink blankets labeled for all to see and admire, there is something mysterious and magnificent surrounding all those new parents and babies. You can almost see all the limitless possibilities.

Patience was not my strongest trait as a child.

Patience is a quality that doesn’t come easily to a child and I was no different, obviously a newborn isn’t quite ready to take on alien invaders or storm the many castles that need conquering, regardless I often would check in on my new baby sister to see how she was coming along, was she walking or talking, or capable of wielding a sword yet? I was quite distraught to learn each time that she was not. Despite her natural shortcomings she really was a sight to behold, a beautiful baby with a perfect visage, cute with just the right amount of chubbiness. The world was to be her oyster, with our parents as her guardians she was to make the world a better place, with as much access to all the possibilities that were presented to all the other newborns in the hospital.

My sister enjoying some of the finer things in life.

I’m a little fuzzy on the timing of it all but I believe I was around the age of seven, my sister would have been two, when my parents approached me in order to share some rather upsetting news. My sister was nowhere to be found and I could see my mother was visibly upset which right away set the mood. She informed me in a tremulous voice that something was wrong with my sister, I immediately began to cry as my first instinct was that she had died, why else would my mother be distraught. She quickly comforted me as mothers do best and told me that Éliane was fine and only that she had been diagnosed as mentally handicapped. I was too young to notice the subtleties but to my parents her development was delayed, she had difficulty controlling her balance and limbs, her vocabulary was another indication that something was amiss. Not really understanding the breadth of what this meant she explained that life for her could potentially be more difficult and that she needed her family to help and protect her. I was relieved to know that she was well, at that age that’s all that really registers. I did not fully comprehend the impact this would have on my sister or our little family but I was soon to see them.

Whatever happened to those dolls?

Words that were in my vocabulary and used to taunt and tease others for being stupid or slow would take on a whole other meaning and subsequently be purged from my mind as valid words to mock others. Retard or mongoloid are words used to describe a person’s permanent condition either through birth or an accident and over the years they have slowly made their way onto the politically incorrect radar. They are largely used to ridicule and taunt others despite the fact that those that they actually apply to do not have a choice in the matter with regards to their condition yet we often apply them to those that are obviously not afflicted in order to hurt them emotionally. I dislike these words and have pretty much dropped them from my vocabulary and those closest to me have followed suit, or tend not to use them around me. This was my first metamorphosis as a child due to my sister and definitely not the last.

Brother and sister against the world.

That same year my sister was also diagnosed with encephalitis, I do not remember any of the more intricate details but I do recall my sister having to move around the house with some sort of hockey helmet in order to protect her from any serious bumps to the head. Because of the inflammation in her brain she wasn’t very stable, this doesn’t help a two year old much, and any sort of trauma to the head could have propelled things from bad to extremely dire so she paraded around looking like a mini goon. My interactions with her during these fragile times were kept to a minimum, I don’t remember asking many questions about what was going on, I was either too young or too self absorbed to fully understand all the goings on, regardless I just paid extra attention to my sister’s welfare. I don’t know where the family bond comes from, if it’s within us from birth, if it’s developed as we spend more and more time together or if it’s a choice we make? Mine seemed to stem from a mix of the first two. I got along with my sister famously when I was young, her condition only helped reinforce the need to be a good brother.

My mother doesn’t like getting her picture taken but she loves her kids.

Eventually my parents had to find proper care for my sister, in Ontario back in the eighties there weren’t really any programs that specialized in taking care of children with special needs that also happened to be from a French family. Therefore my parents were forced to let their vulnerable daughter spend the workweek at a nun’s convent while weekends were spent with us. It was the only option available to them as they couldn’t afford to have one of them take time off work, I remember those Sunday nights quite clearly. Week after week I could hear my mother’s cries, the thought of letting go of one of her children for a whole week was a situation that she could not and would not accept. My father tried to console and comfort her despite the fact that he was hurting inside as well. My sister did not understand either and naturally cried her heart out each and every time. This must have been one of the moments in my mother’s life that lit that fire deep within her, it must be where she draws a lot of her strength from, where she gathers the will to fight for what’s right, the root of her indomitable spirit because from that moment on she fought. She fought unjust systems, she fought a cruel society and she fought a blind government, she fought for her vulnerable daughter, and she fought for her sick dying husband. Looking back it seems my mother’s life is nothing but a series of battles that would have pushed any normal person over the edge, but she never yielded, never gave up and never asked for sympathy. She didn’t win all of those fights but she did win many and she did make things better. She wrote to papers, to government officials, she even contacted journalists and had TV crews come over to the house to conduct interviews so that they may spread the word about the injustice. Eventually my parents no longer had to fear Sunday nights, no longer did they have to watch the hours go by and countdown my sister’s departure. I no longer had to listen to my mother’s whimpers in the dead of night because she fought to keep my sister safe, by her side, where she’s been ever since.

WTF where did she get that shirt? I’m sure it’s been burned.

The fighting continued, my mother also had to fight for integration of her daughter with regular schools. As is often the case society has a tendency to fear change or differences and rather than accept the differences or change, it groups them together and segregates them. This was no different for those with mental or physical handicaps, I remember reading somewhere that future generations will judge us by how we treated our most vulnerable citizens. I hope things improve before that time comes. Having grown up with my sister I learned to interact with her in very natural ways, the process would be the same for the rest of society. If we are to segregate all that is different how are we to learn to live together as a whole. This is one of the reasons why Canada has had greater success with multiculturalism simply because upon immigration to Canada children are quickly integrated into regular school systems as it is at this time that they are capable of adapting more quickly. Therefore if we were exposed to all that the world has to offer we could learn to live together, how to help each other and above all how to understand each other. My mother fought for this change alongside the tail end of Mandela’s fight against apartheid in South-Africa. She made parallels between the two systems of segregation to make her point of how inclusiveness was the key to success. She fought so hard that she eventually won full integration for Éliane which meant that she would be part of a regular classroom with a dedicated special educator.

My sister loved swimming and my dad loved speedos.

My mother later realized that this approach was not efficient in the grand scheme of things. It would be too costly to have such an arrangement for all children with special needs and my sister didn’t fit into a grade system very well since she would attend school until the maximum allowable age of twenty-one. Near my sisters final years in the public school system it seems a harmony was achieved by having a classroom of special needs children be part of a regular school so that the interactions would happen during recesses, lunchtimes and other school events. This was after my father’s death and I recall many of the kids interacting with her when I would come by after school to pick her up, from what I could gather it seemed that this allowed my sister to make connections with kids that would have never known how to interact with her had she not gone to the same school as they.

Above is but a glimpse of my little sister and her profound impact on the man I have become, those that have grown up by my side have witnessed her ageless ascension into adulthood. Within my mother’s circle, her ever watchful gaze, she is protected from all the worlds demons. With every passing year my mother’s strength wanes but the love and devotion she has to her daughter has not. There is nothing my mother fears more than failing to protect her only daughter against the evils in this world and ultimately, I suspect, this is what has kept her going after almost forty years. I’ve heard her say on multiple occasions and most recently to my wife and I that once children enter the picture your primary job is to tend to their needs and desired, your desires come last next to them. This mantra was demonstrated repeatedly through action throughout my life and I hope to make her proud on this front with my own children one day.

Cedric Jean-Marie