Timmy’s legacy: Often the hard earned lessons last the longest

What do you have around the house that your kids or parents or special friend made or bought for you? When it comes to kids’ relics I’m a bit of a sentimental hoarder. I have virtually every Fathers’ Day card any of the girls ever gave me and in the kitchen cupboard we have every melamine plate with the kids’ (and even a few grandkids’) drawings on them, dating back to their preschool days. And all their growing up photos.

Some photos are sad, especially the one of Timmy, our eldest son, who died as a baby. Timmy had Downs Syndrome and a serious heart problem. He was never able to suckle and we had to wake him and whirl him around to get him to take even the odd suck or two from the bottle. At that time Jean was working as teacher/matron in a school for handicapped children, many of whom had Downs syndrome. We had seen the toll that significantly delayed children had had on their parents’ well-being, so we knew what we were in for.

Friends would call in with their young kids to see how we were and then I would see them leave hugging their own children, as if to say thank God, it’s not us – that hurt us more than they ever knew – sort of using our crisis as relief that it wasn’t their problem.

Then when I went down town to get petrol, the guy at the service station, whose wife was in the labour ward with Jean, asked how the baby was. I told him of the circumstances and health concerns and he just shook his head at me and said “hang on mate, you’ve got a kid haven’t ya, that’s all that matters” and maybe that’s all that should have, but not to me. I could see my family unit struggling with little hope for any quick solutions and there was no NDIS then, we were all alone.

So when I saw the difficulties Jean was having in feeding and her plummeting self-confidence I became resentful. Then because Timmy wasn’t putting on any weight, the doctor ordered him back to hospital so he could be intravenously fed and monitored. We would go in to see him each day and sit by the bed and just look at each other. Jean looked at me to say she was sorry, she had failed me and I would look to her with no capacity to comfort and reassure. On our last visit before Timmy died his sunken eyes just seemed to bore right through me as if he knew what was in my heart. I can still see that image.

So this wasn’t a good chapter in our lives but that experience and the loneliness I felt at that time, absolutely convinced me to specialize in child development. But even more importantly for my career, it made me absolutely committed to supporting every parent who came through my clinic door. Whether the problem was child behaviour or development or parental feelings of inadequacy, I swore none would leave my rooms feeling unsupported, unheard or judged. I hope I did that! So, good things rose from those ashes just as they do for each of us when we don’t know where to turn. Just grab the good things when they do come along and ride out those times when they don’t. If it hadn’t been for Timmy I would never have been able to help as many as I did. Sorry son. Wherever you are, I hope you can forgive me.