Jamie

I’d like to tell you a story about my son Jamie. Jamie is a bright 3 ½ year old boy, who I have seen once since his third birthday in March. It is now September. Jamie lives with my mother roughly an hour away from where I currently reside and I gave up custody of him just before his third birthday. Another thing you need to know about Jamie is that he is developmentally disabled.

I am 22 and the youngest child in my family. Two years ago when the signs of Jamie’s problems first became evident, I did not recognize them. I was barely more then a kid myself how was I supposed to recognize a stunted development in my child. The only knowledge I had of child development was what I read in books that were always concluded with “…but all children develop differently.”

Fortunately my fiancé, Peter (not Jamie’s father) Peter’s sister, who has 4 small children, and his mother recognized the deficiencies that he was experiencing. At this time he lived with Peter and I and was with my mom during the day. My mom and the rest of Jamie’s family on both my and his father’s side insisted that there was no problem with his development. They were constantly citing instances within the family where children did not have certain age appropriate behaviors and turned out to be what they considered fine.

I was being swayed in two different directions by both my family and by Pete’s family. Finally, after nothing short of being beaten over the head I was forced to look at the facts. My son is challenged and he needs help. It only took a few phone calls and I came in contact with New Jersey Early Intervention, a program that provides therapy for disabled children birth to age 3. The qualifications for services required a child to have a 50% (?) delay in one area or a 25% delay in two areas to be eligible. Jamie was evaluated by a team of therapists and exhibited delays in more than two areas. He therefore was deemed eligible for services.

He received speech, physical, and occupational therapy once a week through the early intervention program. Things began to get more difficult on every front for both Jamie and myself. Jamie had to adjust to all of these new strange people who were coming to “play” with him every week. I had to deal with the flak from my family, who felt this was a waste of time. I also had to deal with Peter, and his distaste for my family and how they were handling the situation.

This continued until it finally came to a head a few months before Jamie’s 3rd birthday. There was a controversy as to whether Jamie would live with Peter and I or if he would stay with my mother and I would give up guardianship, enabling him to attend school in her district. It was a war. Not only with Peter and my family, but it was a war within myself to try to do what I thought was the right thing for my son.

As much as I wanted to try to be a mother to my son, I was just not capable of doing so. It didn’t help that my mother and grandmother made it as difficult as possible for Jamie and I, or that Pete was behind me one day and refused to be there for us the next. It just confused me more.
I
fought for a while. I refused to sign guardianship over to my mother because I felt that there had to be some other way. I could give up my baby without giving up my baby. My mother, my father, and Jamie’s father all threatened me. I can’t remember a time in my life that I was so scared, hurt, and confused all at the same time. I finally, after a fierce battle, surrendered. I signed guardianship over to my mother right after Jamie’s third birthday.

I still am not sure if I gave up out of fear or if somewhere in my soul searching I deep down thought it was the best thing for my child. It doesn’t matter why I gave up. It still hurts just as much despite the reason

It gets me through the day sometimes to know that Jamie is in school and doing well. He is in a full time program for autistic children, that is funded by the school district. He also attends a program at the children’s hospital that deals with his aversions to food. The fact that he is doing so well allows me to talk myself into believing that I did the right thing. But not a day goes by that the guilt doesn’t tug at my heartstrings.

I justify not seeing my son because it is too confusing for him right now with everything that is going on in his life. Maybe I’m just too lazy, too scared, or too hurt. Or maybe I am the one who’s confused.

It does bother me that if I saw him tomorrow he would not remember me, let alone know that I’m his mother. I try to focus on the importance of the help that he is getting. I hope that one day, as a result of my battles, he will be coherent enough to understand his childhood. I hope that one day he will go to a regular school and be at an age appropriate level.
There is no way to know what the future will hold. Maybe Jamie will never know who I am or that I’m his mother. Or maybe he will know and hate me forever, not that I could blame him. That was the price I had to pay. At 18 years old, I was not capable of being a mother, and at 22 I am still not. I did what I thought was best. As much as it breaks my heart, I will take comfort in knowing that because of my struggles, Jamie has hope of one day living a normal life.