The Daughter of a Paraplegic Single Mother

My mother lost her ability to walk at the age of 24 due to a car wreck. 10 years later she gave birth to me.

She was no stranger to the life of a paraplegic mother, even before she became one herself. Her mother had also lost the ability to walk at the age of 24 from cancer. She then had my mother a couple of years later. For the first 12 years of my mother’s life, she knew nothing else but having a mother who couldn't walk.

Her father had left her and her mother 2 years prior, leaving my mother as the sole caretaker of her home and her mom. Unfortunately, at 12 years old, she lost her mother when the cancer returned.

Despite the challenges, my mother only talks positively about this time in her life, emphasizing how she loved being her mom’s helper and never was bothered by the fact that she couldn’t walk. As a child that grew up in the same shoes she did, I understand why. she says this. I know that she sugar-coated her childhood slightly because if she admitted the truth she would feel guilty if she said anything else.

My mother talks very little about her life before her accident. I began to understand at a young age that it was because of the pain associated with the life she lived until she was permanently stuck in a wheelchair. She also maintained a positive mindset and never said many negative things about how she felt being a paraplegic mother.

She has a very independent mindset and refuses to ever admit that her disability defines her. Or at least she used to.

I also used to have that mindset. I had to cope with the daily weight of responsibility that I carried from the moment I was able to use a microwave at 3 years old. It wasn’t the extra chores and being independent beyond my age that weighed heavy on my soul, it was the feeling of responsibility for my mother as a whole.

She relied on me more than most people can fathom. I believed that without me there for her, she wouldn’t be able to survive if she faced an unforeseen danger such as a fire or falling out of her chair and being injured enough to not get to the phone.

She had the same worries but we never told each other about these fears, it was an unspoken understanding that we avoided.

I didn’t have many friends and the few I did have never questioned my life because they witnessed it firsthand and knew that all I wanted was to be treated like everyone else. However, when people outside our close circle learned that my mother couldn’t walk, they always had the same reaction to learning my mother was a single parent who couldn’t walk.

Sometimes they would start off talking to her condescendingly, as if they were talking to a young child or someone with a mental disability.

“I’m paralyzed not retarded” my mother would always say as soon as she had the chance, following it with a laugh to show that she wasn’t offended by their assumption, but wanted to make her disability clear.

Her comment was always quickly followed by endless apologies as my mother told them it was fine. I could always see the anticipation in the person's eyes as they tried to figure out how to ask my mother the questions everyone asked her, without seeming nosey.

My mother also noticed this and had a speech ready for them before they could even ask.

“No, I wasn’t born this way I got in a wreck at 24. No, I Can’t Feel my legs. I was paralyzed before I had my daughter. Yes, I can feel sex, if I couldn’t why would I bother having it.” She would always tell them with a smile on her face, sure to end with a bit of humor.

Most people would end the uncomfortable conversation shortly after and tell me how grown up I was helping my mom. That always annoyed me. As if they had any idea what I did or didn’t do.

There were few people though, that wanted to talk to my mom endlessly and weren’t afraid to ask anything in their mind. I respected these people. I could always see that they weren’t judgmental about my mother and her life, approaching the topic with curiosity, as to what it was like to live the way she did. My mother also respected these people and appreciated the opportunity to have a meaningful conversation about everything they wanted to know without worrying about their feelings or hers.

This was the easiest part of encountering people who were uneducated about my mother’s condition. The harder part was the people who had their own preconceived opinions about her condition before they ever talked to me or my mother. These were the people I was raised to look out for because they would find any reason to prove my mother was unfit and take me away.

My mother always told me “You can’t trust anyone. Don’t say anything bad because if the wrong person hears anything they’ll call Child Services. You don’t want to get taken from me right?”

I would quickly reassure her I understood and didn’t want that to happen. The truth was my mother wasn’t the best parent, but none of the reasons for that had to do with her inability to walk. She suffered from depression, alcohol abuse, and pill problems since before I was born. I can’t say I blame her. I would too if I were in her shoes.

But she did raise me in a valuable way that most people never had the opportunity to experience. I was raised to be independent and never rely on anyone for help. She taught me that life could always be worse and to never take the little things for granted. Most importantly she taught me to never judge a book by its cover and that disappointment and forgiveness are parts of life you have to accept to move forward.

My mother’s relationship as I transitioned into adolescence and eventually an adult was not like most daughters have with their mother. With independence and responsibility came a hard skin and an inability to control my anger.

I was quick to let someone know exactly how I felt and stand up for myself. Sometimes beyond what I should have, causing me to get into trouble as I got older. Especially with my mother, who could trigger my anger in the snap of a finger. I didn’t treat her like a disabled person because I knew that she was capable of doing almost anything more than most able-bodied people.

We fought constantly, but at the end of the day she knew as well as I did that if we needed each other, it was never a question whether or not we’d be there.

For those of you reading this and wondering what it was actually like having a paraplegic mother, the only way I can answer that is by saying it was hard. I won’t sugarcoat it, even if it makes me seem like a monster.

There are things that, as a child, I had to do regularly that most people never imagined. Aside from housework, cooking, and grocery shopping, there’s a whole other side of my responsibility.

I had to help my mother when she needed to bath or if she had an “accident” and needed help cleaning up. I helped her get in and out of her chair from the bed, car, and even off the floor when she fell. I was responsible for making sure that she was still breathing when she took too many of her pills and fell asleep. Most of all, I had to be the person to tell her everything was going to be okay and that I didn’t hate her for being in a wheelchair instead of being able to walk like most moms could.

I carried the burden of my mother’s emotional support, making sure that I never showed her that anything about her being disabled made me less than happy, no matter the truth. No matter how angry or upset I was with her, I knew that I was the only thing she had in her life, and because of that, I knew that if I told her that some things bothered me, it wouldn’t only crush her, but it would be the thing that took away her hope that she was indeed not defined by her wheelchair.

If you’re reading this as a person who has experienced what I have and is looking for any advice or guidance, know that even though things will never be easy or normal, you’re living a life that teaches you things most people never learn. Invaluable life skills of independence, resilience, and the ability to love unconditionally.