Sophie’s Choice, is the title of a 1979 novel by William Styron, about a Polish woman in a Nazi concentration camp who is forced to decide between which child will live and which one will be sent to the gas chambers. Meryl Streep starred in the film version of this story, and now the phrase – “Sophies Choice ” is considered a kind of shorthand for a choice between two difficult decisions.
Over the years, I have secretly compared myself to Sophie. Perhaps this is taking it to an extreme, to compare myself to Meryl Streep (in her role of Sophie,) as I make decisions and choices about Jessica. And in no way am I comparing the depth of my pain to sending a child to his or her death. I’m not. Examining my feelings, I have to look at why I feel this way. It is the act of choosing that causes my pain. I think of Sophie and the unbearable choice she had to make, how deeply it tortures her until she finally ends her life.
This is what it feels like to me. Unbearable. Especially the guilt.
Take vacations for example. I can’t leave her behind, yet she hates the plane. She cries and howls on take-off or throws up when we land. When she isn’t in her routine, she becomes ill at ease. Unfamiliar surroundings are scary. In my imaginary world, we have gone everywhere as a family – on cruises, on car trips, flying to exotic places or just camping in the woods. Except, we haven’t.
In the last few years, my husband Chip has helped me. He suggested we take her on short car trips to Orlando and do a lot of stopping along the way. We took her with us on a family vacation to Disney World a few years ago, but she wasn’t interested in visiting the parks. So when everyone else was going on rides or visiting characters, I stayed with Jessica. It’s hard to relax when every minute I am worried about Jessica. And then I think, am I self -centered? Selfish?
What kind of mother feels like this?
I don’t know if I will ever get over feeling that I am like Sophie. It’s painful having to push these thoughts out of the way, but they cling to me. I have to remind myself over and over again that I am a good mom. Yes, we’ve taken her on some family trips, it’s just that more and more often, I’ve decided not to.
We once went on a family car trip to North Carolina. I should consider myself lucky that Jessica’s cerebral palsy only affects her gait and her speech. Her walk is slightly awkward, she drags her feet and shuffles when she walks. She gets tired easily. But she can walk. We had to hold her hand and take turns practically pulling her up the mountain on our hikes. It was pretty stressful, and once again, I felt resentment building up inside. Why did she have to be this way? I thought of my good friend whose son has CP. He uses a wheelchair, and she said they use the handicapped accessible trails when they go on hikes with him. Maybe she doesn’t mind she can’t wander anywhere she wants. I tell myself I should be like her. But I’m not her. I hate that I can’t be.