I miss… my childhood bedroom, which was on the first floor of our family home. My room, next to my parents’, had the best view of the house, looking over a distant rural scene.
Since I couldn’t climb stairs, I accessed my old bedroom via a fairly cumbersome stairlift. Though it occupied the majority of the staircase and was considered (by some) an eyesore, I miss it somewhat. I would at times amuse myself by transporting the dog or cat up and down on the seat or footplate. Don’t panic, they enjoyed it – honestly!
Having lost the ability to weight-bear at the age of 10, it became increasingly difficult for me to access the upper floor of our home. So, in 2000, my parents made the decision to extend the ground floor and build a level-access bedroom and ensuite bathroom for me.
At the age of twelve, I left the security of my old bedroom for my new, street level room. It took a long time for me to grow accustomed to sleeping so far from the rest of my family. My parents and older brother slept in close proximity, safe upstairs, while I slept (or tried to) all alone on the lower floor.
My new bedroom is extended from the living-room, and consequently people seem to feel it is part of the shared family space. They often stroll in and out at their leisure, visitors included. This continues to be infuriating at times, though in all fairness it’s a small price to pay considering all that my parents have surrendered to accommodate me in their home.
I’m thankful… for the selflessness and sacrifices made by my parents for my benefit. I have previously mentioned the different ways in which my parents support and provide for me. In this case, the sacrifice was primarily financial.
As I was below the age of 18, it was my parents income that was assessed, meaning that they were afforded only a partial grant towards the build. To supplement the cost, they extended their mortgage. They didn’t have to do this. They did it for me. They did it to allow me greater independence and flexibility as my needs changed with the progression of my condition.
I’m now 28 and I still live with my parents in their home. Not ideal, no. We get on each others nerves from time to time. Disagreements are unavoidable. From this, it’s easy to want for more, and to wish I could move out and have my own space. The grass is always greener, perhaps. But it’s important to remind myself of all that I have and not what I don’t have. It’s important to remember all that my parents have done for me throughout my life. After all, not many would put themselves through years of debt in order to extend their home for the sake of their disabled daughter.