Today she needed comfort.
Today Sylvie will leave me, she thought. Even before Cynthia’s funeral, Annie had cried, secretly, most nights that previous week.
She had to do it privately. Sylvie became so very upset when Annie cried.
Annie, of course, had known the separation would be hard for Sylvie.
But Annie also knew that Sylvie lived in the moment, and if her moments away were filled with sunshine, a pet, good food, and some friends, Sylvie would be all right.
But what about me? Aaron thinks I’m doing this for me, but he’s so wrong. This is my gift to her, Annie thought. And it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
She wiped her eyes again, then took a shuddering breath. Maybe this is the start of the third period in my life, life without Sylvie.
Maybe it would also be a new start for Sylvie. She needs this school, despite what Aaron and Alex say. Annie had seen what was happening to her. Day by day, week by week, year by year, surrounded by others who were smarter, faster, quicker, Sylvie had grown more and more frustrated, more and more alone. Annie saw that she hadn’t given her daughter what she needed, just as her own mother hadn’t given Annie her birthright.
But unlike her own mother, Annie wouldn’t run from the problem. She was fighting for Sylvie. She’d researched the schools and sheltered communities out there and found Sylvan Glades. Though it would cost her everything to give up her little girl to strangers, she knew she had to do it. And Chris, bless his heart, had seen Sylvie’s need and agreed.
The irony was that for years Aaron had accused her of being too close to Sylvie, of being too protective, of “spoiling” her. He had tried to present the issue as his selfless concern, but Annie knew it was otherwise. I don’t think he could love anything, anyone, so imperfect.
He’s just like that, Annie thought. Having a child with Down’s syndrome had not fit in with Aaron’s image of himself. It had hurt him, somewhere deep, deep inside, and as time passed and Sylvie grew, it became harder, not easier for him. She wasn’t as cute at ten as she had been at six, and at thirteen she wasn’t cute at all. To him she was simply imperfect.
And much else became imperfect as well. Certainly, after Sylvie, things between them had changed. It had been a difficult birth, Annie had healed slowly and had then been depressed. And Aaron had not been good at comforting her. Thrown against adversity, he ran from it. He wanted her to “get over it.”
At last, when their intimacy resumed, she had not achieved orgasm.
Ever. From then till now.
Aaron had tried, at first, to be patient. She’d had minor surgery, started therapy, had been prescribed tranquilizers. For a long time they had simply lived with it. But by now Annie, too, in his eyes was imperfect. It was too much for him. Aaron had read about Dr. Leslie osen, the sex specialist, and finally insisted that Annie consult with her.
To be sure, Dr. Rosen had helped her tear away many of the veils that had hidden the truths of her life. Dr. Rosen helped Annie see how poorly she had been mothered, how sad, how angry, she was. Annie had even brought Aaron to her. Then Dr. Rosen helped Annie see the problems in her marriage. She helped her decide to find a school for Sylvie. Then Aaron had left, and the doctor had terminated therapy when Annie refused to give up on her marriage. And now, now with all this happening, Annie felt abandoned by Dr. Rosen, dropped just when she needed support the most. “You’re still in a dreamworld. You refuse to see reality,” Dr. Rosen had said. “There is nothing more I can do.”
Annie felt dizzy again. She would just have to take this day slowly.
She thought of calling Brenda. Brenda had offered to come with her to take Sylvie to school, but Annie had declined. She wanted all the time alone with Sylvie that she could get. Now, however, she realized she needed to talk to someone.
She looked at her watch
Today Sylvie will leave me, she thought. Even before Cynthia’s funeral, Annie had cried, secretly, most nights that previous week.
She had to do it privately. Sylvie became so very upset when Annie cried.
Annie, of course, had known the separation would be hard for Sylvie.
But Annie also knew that Sylvie lived in the moment, and if her moments away were filled with sunshine, a pet, good food, and some friends, Sylvie would be all right.
But what about me? Aaron thinks I’m doing this for me, but he’s so wrong. This is my gift to her, Annie thought. And it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
She wiped her eyes again, then took a shuddering breath. Maybe this is the start of the third period in my life, life without Sylvie.
Maybe it would also be a new start for Sylvie. She needs this school, despite what Aaron and Alex say. Annie had seen what was happening to her. Day by day, week by week, year by year, surrounded by others who were smarter, faster, quicker, Sylvie had grown more and more frustrated, more and more alone. Annie saw that she hadn’t given her daughter what she needed, just as her own mother hadn’t given Annie her birthright.
But unlike her own mother, Annie wouldn’t run from the problem. She was fighting for Sylvie. She’d researched the schools and sheltered communities out there and found Sylvan Glades. Though it would cost her everything to give up her little girl to strangers, she knew she had to do it. And Chris, bless his heart, had seen Sylvie’s need and agreed.
The irony was that for years Aaron had accused her of being too close to Sylvie, of being too protective, of “spoiling” her. He had tried to present the issue as his selfless concern, but Annie knew it was otherwise. I don’t think he could love anything, anyone, so imperfect.
He’s just like that, Annie thought. Having a child with Down’s syndrome had not fit in with Aaron’s image of himself. It had hurt him, somewhere deep, deep inside, and as time passed and Sylvie grew, it became harder, not easier for him. She wasn’t as cute at ten as she had been at six, and at thirteen she wasn’t cute at all. To him she was simply imperfect.
And much else became imperfect as well. Certainly, after Sylvie, things between them had changed. It had been a difficult birth, Annie had healed slowly and had then been depressed. And Aaron had not been good at comforting her. Thrown against adversity, he ran from it. He wanted her to “get over it.”
At last, when their intimacy resumed, she had not achieved orgasm.
Ever. From then till now.
Aaron had tried, at first, to be patient. She’d had minor surgery, started therapy, had been prescribed tranquilizers. For a long time they had simply lived with it. But by now Annie, too, in his eyes was imperfect. It was too much for him. Aaron had read about Dr. Leslie osen, the sex specialist, and finally insisted that Annie consult with her.
To be sure, Dr. Rosen had helped her tear away many of the veils that had hidden the truths of her life. Dr. Rosen helped Annie see how poorly she had been mothered, how sad, how angry, she was. Annie had even brought Aaron to her. Then Dr. Rosen helped Annie see the problems in her marriage. She helped her decide to find a school for Sylvie. Then Aaron had left, and the doctor had terminated therapy when Annie refused to give up on her marriage. And now, now with all this happening, Annie felt abandoned by Dr. Rosen, dropped just when she needed support the most. “You’re still in a dreamworld. You refuse to see reality,” Dr. Rosen had said. “There is nothing more I can do.”
Annie felt dizzy again. She would just have to take this day slowly.
She thought of calling Brenda. Brenda had offered to come with her to take Sylvie to school, but Annie had declined. She wanted all the time alone with Sylvie that she could get. Now, however, she realized she needed to talk to someone.
She looked at her watch
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