I always assumed that one day she would come back to me. I was terribly wrong.
I was eleven when it became necessary to send her to a "special place". I was so sad and lonely, even in the midst of my new family. They were really great and loved me a lot. I was still sad. I was mad. I did not understand. I had always picked up the slack where she was concerned. I know that she took more effort that the average child, but I was always trying to overcompensate for that. I was good enough for the both of us, or I tried to be.
When they said she had to go away, I felt a huge amount of guilt. Part of me was glad. I was glad that I wouldn't have to work so hard to take care of her. I was glad that I would not have to stand up for her all the time to all the asshole kids on the school bus and at school. Like every other kid, I just wanted to be normal. Then came bedtime.
I was so sad at night when it was time to lay down and go to sleep. Then there was only time to think about missing her. She had been such a huge part of my existence. Taking care of her and looking after her had always kept me grounded. Even in all the crazy upheaval of our young lives, I was hardly ever scared or sad when she was there because I was always brave and happy enough for the both of us. Only time would make this better.
She moved to a special guardian's house that would become her caretaker for the rest of her life. Her new guardian was wealthy and she enjoyed a private nurse, awesome vacations and endless support. She went to a special school that would teach her to adapt to "grown up life". When she went to live with her guardian in the early 90s, the lady was already in her early 50s. I always assumed that one day she would get too old to take care of her, and she would eventually come back to live with me.
One weekend, her guardian went to Hot Springs and left her with a trusted friend. The friend ran a home for disabled people and was supposedly trained in their care. Friday evening, Patricia fell off of the deck and broke her shoulder. She was taken to the hospital and prescribed pain killers and given a referral to her orthopedic specialists for the following Monday. She was crying and complaining of pain so bad the following day that the "friend" decided it would be a good idea to give her the Fentanyl patch of one of the terminal cancer patients. Patricia was 4'11" and weighed about 110 pounds. She went to sleep that night, and never woke up again. The EMT s were called at 9 AM Sunday morning and found her non-responsive.
The only way I can find any peace in this situation is that I know if Patricia had lived to be of an old age, she would have suffered an excruciating death. Along with her mental disabilities, she suffered curvature of the spine and sever muscular dystrophy. I find peace in knowing that she went to sleep and never woke up. I hope that I was in her dreams.
I am still sad. I am still angry! I feel as though I were robbed. I wanted to be there holding her hand when she left this Earth. I always figured she would go before me, but I did not ever guess it would be this soon. Maybe the saying that God will not put more on you than you can bear is true. And I am sure he knows better than I do. Now my angel is literally an angel, and that is the rest of the story.
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