What am I, Chopped Liver?

or...The Invisible Sibling

Being a sibling of a special-needs person, at least for me, was to be invisible. 

Before either of us went grey!

It's interesting when I search the social medias by using #specialneeds. The hashtag renders many, many supporting groups for moms, parents, social workers, counselors, and teachers of special needs children. But, so far (and I'm not saying I've done an all-inclusive, thorough search) I haven't found anything targeting us siblings.  It's as if we are invisible.

Which is funny, because it's been that way all my life since LeeAnn was born.

It is us, the siblings, who help raise the special needs child. We take up some slack for our parents by entertaining our sibling with simplified games, tuck them back into bed when they crash our slumber parties, and we know in the end we will be the one who takes care of our special-needs sibling after our parents pass. And yet, the world, the teachers, the counselors, and even our parents see right through us as if we were not even there. As if what we do is expected to the degree that it is not noticed.

Oh, I get it. I got it back then, too. Even as a seven or eight year old, I realized her circumstances
were way more interesting than mine. I was a normal, healthy child. I had no special needs, or limitations, other than my near-sightedness. I was fine.

Really, I was.

I wasn't jealous of the extra attention she got and needed. In fact, I was proud of the uniqueness of my situation. Nobody else had a sister who was blind and deaf, with a hole in her heart.

I had boldly announced this as I circled my third-grade classroom the first day of school when our teacher prompted us to make the circle and introduce ourselves. I remember the teacher's reaction was one of shock and possibly embarrassment. She said, "Well, you didn't have to say all that."

I thought, "Why not? That's who I am."

In my college speech class, when I was asked to write a speech telling something interesting about myself, I wrote, "The most interesting thing about me is not actually about me. It's about my sister..." I proceeded to tell LeeAnn's story. The students were, indeed, fascinated.  Because it is fascinating how LeeAnn has grown up and is thriving.

I get that!

But do I have to be invisible?


When LeeAnn was around three, people came to our house and interviewed Mom. Later, there was an article in the newspaper about LeeAnn. It had a large picture of her, with her Orphan-Annie curly head of hair and watery-blue eyes, staring, cross-eyed, at the flame of a candle (She loved candles back then. Her bangs were always singed slightly from her long gazes at a lit flame. More about that in another blog.). And it mentioned me! Well, it mentioned LeeAnn had an older sister named Linda.

Yeah, that's not me.

If that wasn't frustrating enough, kids at my school came to me and said, "Hey! There was an article in the paper about another kid like your sister..."

"That was my sister," I retorted. "They got my name wrong."  After all, how often is your name mentioned in the newspaper when you're a kid? Once, for me, and they got it wrong.

Another time, we drove to Oklahoma City to meet with a well-known doctor who had a program for special needs children like LeeAnn. My parents were very serious on the drive down and I was instructed to be on my best behavior. So I tried to be.  But, when the man walked into our sterile, plastic chaired waiting room and my mom and dad introduced themselves and me, the man was so focused on LeeAnn he completely missed what my dad said. You see, Dad said, "...and this is our daughter, ..." but the man heard "...this is Barbara."

He continued to call me Barbara for the rest of the visit. I was so embarrassed. When the doctor wanted to get me and LeeAnn out of the room (you know, adult talk), he said, "Barbara, will you take LeeAnn out and show her where the water fountain is? ... Barbara...Barbara!"

Oh! me!  I responded and took LeeAnn out into the hall.  I wanted to crawl under the tile and hide in the car. I had wanted to make a good impression, as my mother had emphasized, but I felt like I came off as an idiot.

Later there was another article about LeeAnn attending the school in Austin. I wasn't mentioned in that one at all, which was fine with me, because they probably would have gotten my name wrong again. It was less frustrating to not be mentioned at all.

***Flash forward to today***

Okay, so that was then and this is now. I've grown up and I'm fine. I have raised four children. I have ten amazing grandchildren (at this writing, three are still in the oven) and a wonderful husband, my in-laws love me, my church family loves me, my friends love me, and I am a published author.

I have a blessed and happy life. I've made a name for myself. I am not invisible...

This blog is my opportunity to reach out to other siblings.

This is the portrait Mom and Dad had made
for their fortieth wedding anniversary. July 4, 2004.

It's never easy unloading the baggage of the child within. I call her Little Lynn. She's still very insecure, seeking her own moments for attention and love. I know Mother did her best with what she had to work with, as did Dad.

Somehow, I got left out.  Just like this "family portrait" they had made in 2004 for their fortieth wedding anniversary.

...and what's funny about that is LeeAnn was the one who said to our parents, "Lynn!" Meaning: Lynn should be in the family picture. I was surprised and happy when Mom called and asked me to join them for a family portrait. It was later I learned they had already had one sitting before they realized (or was reminded) I should be included.

Fortieth Wedding Anniversary, July 4, 2004

As we load up our travel trailer and head out on our adventure for more altitude and less attitude...and cooler temperatures in Colorado, I want to emphasize this one thing: I'm not telling you all this as an invitation to my pity party! No way. I'm just reaching out and sharing my story. I am sure other siblings completely understand and have stories of their own. I hope this reaches some of them and I also hope they, and you, will comment below. I'd love to hear what you think. I'd love to hear others' stories. Surely I'm not alone, or invisible.