are we there yet?

As told to Libby Silberman

by Malky Sapir

Recap: Malky reflects on different ways that Batsheva’s CP and her divorce helped her grow as a person, pointing to her ability to connect and communicate with her grandfather suffering from Alzheimer’s despite his inability to speak.

I reentered shidduchim fairly quickly post-divorce but stayed in the ring for some time. In the two and a half years that I was single, I got many nos. Taking on parenthood of a little girl with cerebral palsy is no small deal. Finally, I met my husband-to-be, Shimon, who was willing to welcome Batsheva into his life, fully understanding that there were no child-support checks arriving in the mail and how complicated her care was. Naturally, there were things I had to accept about him, too. He was divorced and had three children of his own. The children lived with his ex-wife, but he was awarded ample visitation rights.

Eventually, I would discover new definitions for the term “special needs.” While my daughter is the one in the wheelchair, these otherwise healthy children have a host of issues of their own. When they come for extended weekends, I literally stow away wall hangings, table centerpieces, and anything I want to keep intact for the future. My heart breaks for my new husband as he witnesses the state his children are in, unable to do much about it. While my child has major physical special needs, his children have major emotional special needs.

Remarriage was a journey of its own, but the joys of finally being married to a stable, healthy, kind spouse has been worth all the discomfort the children have brought into the picture.

The unexpected gift card is likely the best example of the challenge of blended families. Three months after we married, we won a $250 gift card at a toy store at a fundraising event. I was thinking about Batsheva, of course. If I could get her something huge and cuddly, or a big sensory toy, or perhaps even a few “big girl” games that we could play together. It had been a while since I’d just bought something nice like that.

I was just about to mention this to my husband in conversation when I saw the cogs in his brain turning as well. My heart fell, knowing exactly what he was thinking. He was contemplating how happy his children would be if he could buy them the electronic road set that was the latest trend. They would be so happy, and it would mean so much to my husband to gift his children with it. There’s this constant dance to navigate; will we spend money on his kids or my daughter? I struggle not be resentful that my daughter never gets anything from her father!

This question applies to anything in our life together. Who will we include in our summer plans, who will we give attention to, who will join us for the Seder on Pesach. The stakes are high, and we want to get this right for the sake of our family. With a tefillah on our lips, we’re doing the steps of the delicate dance.

A year after our remarriage, we were soon going to welcome our first child into the world. As the birth drew nearer, we discussed how we were going to prepare fiveyear-old Batsheva. In our circles, young children are not informed of impending news. However, Batsheva’s social worker from school explained to me how our case was different. Batsheva had so little control over her life—she couldn’t get herself dressed, eat most foods she dreams of because they’re too hard to chew, and couldn’t hold a pencil. She was in the grips of a body that allowed her no autonomy. With such a big change pending, it was critically important to give Batsheva the opportunity to feel as in control as possible.

At school, her class prepared an adorable book for her, illustrated with colorful pictures, that told the story of what was about to happen in the simplest of language. Batsheva especially loved the last page: “Batsheva’s mommy will buy a nice double carriage with one seat for Batsheva, and one for the new baby.”

The teacher read it aloud several times, and an ecstatic Batsheva brought the book home, where we read it some more.

When the baby finally arrived, the transition wasn’t easy. Batsheva threw the craziest of tantrums, wordless and mostly actionless. Healthy kids can express their resentment with screaming and hitting; while challenging, this can help them release their emotions. Not so with my little girl. Thus, her social worker encouraged me to be her “mouthpiece,” and help her say the things that were sitting heavily on her heart. Admittedly, it was one of the hardest things for me to do as it went against the chinuch I wished to inculcate in my children. As she wordlessly screamed, I sat beside her, uttering words I never thought would leave my mouth.

“I hate this baby!”

“Give him back to the hospital! We don’t want him!”

Her relief was apparent when I said these words. Finally, I had given voice to the storm she was feeling within.

However, as with all things, time and patience were the best cure, and slowly, we settled into a new routine. Several months in, Batsheva got used to the baby and showed her signs of love for him.

Finally, we were a family. Not only with your kids/my kid, but also with our kid.