Changing from Visually Impaired Mom to Blind Grandma

At seven months pregnant, I dreamed repeatedly of what my unborn daughter would look like. Once awake, I wondered if I’d even be able to see as much as I did in my dream. Retinitis Pigmentosa had not only narrowed my vision, but my visual acuity had surpassed legal blindness by three or four times.

At her birth, I marveled at this miraculous creation. Her perfectly round face filled my entire vision. Specific details weren’t there, but I could identify lips from a nose, and a nose from eyes. Dark brown hair was her crown, but my hands determined its length, and others had to tell me if curls existed.

Daily care for her meant using my sense of feel first as my vision varied on cloudy days and with sunrises and sunsets. Her clothes were stacked in piles on a shelf according to types. Two-piece outfits were joined by safety pins. I changed most diapers, but I must admit, I passed the dirty ones on to daddy most of the time. Smearing or transferring was easier than removing.

When starting cereal for feeding, my friend made me the most wonderful bibs out of kitchen towels that slid over her head. Thankfully, I saw a shadow when her mouth opened for bites or bottles. The problem was the inability to see the amount of food on the spoon and if it remained when gliding from bowl or jar to her mouth. Fallen blobs decorated her bib, often leaving stains.

As she grew, she cooed and giggled, making it easy to follow her movements. Wherever she was, I was certain to follow. I literally never let her out of my sight… not far at all. Seeing her entire body wasn’t necessary to keep track of her. Shades of colors on clothing contrasting with flesh tones and having memorized locations of where furniture resided, worked together to provide valuable clues.

Everything having its place helped a great deal. Combining memory with sight was a way of life. I might find objects in a basket by feel but could tell the basket by sight. Watching her at home was my responsibility, and I did it independently. My husband was more in charge when out in public.

My first grandson came along four years later. At the hospital, I saw a color resembling flesh peeking out in contrast to a light-colored material wrapped tightly about him. I presumed it was him, wrapped in a blanket. His cry confirmed my deductive reasoning.

No longer could I see eyes, a nose, mouth, and ears. At least my sight could guide my hands to hold him. By the time his brother arrived three years later, I couldn’t identify any object to reach for. Someone had to guide my hand to his tiny form, or they laid him in my bent arm. From there, my fingers would gently glide over his face while family described what I was touching.

Not everyone trusts a blind or visually-impaired person with their infants. Both of my girls did. They knew what I could and couldn’t do. I changed wet diapers, wiped hands and faces, but didn’t feed them once off of bottles.

Beyond Babies

With my daughter, discipline wasn’t hard. I knew all of her behaviors and moods as well as every mom knows their baby’s cries. This enabled me to be comfortable in teaching her. We even went down big slides at the park together. Naturally, daddy was present to play his role as protector. There wasn’t much we didn’t try, other than me teaching her colors. If adaptations needed doing, we did so.

With not being around my grandchildren every day, I couldn’t assess their moods and abilities to quite the same degree, making it more difficult to bond when younger. I learned what I could do and would create opportune times to do so. I held them and played as often as possible.

As they got older, I attended sporting events I couldn’t see, participated in bowling together, and whatever we could figure out to do. Both of the older boys enjoyed me teaching them to cook. I put forth effort to learn to enjoy hearing over seeing.

My older two grandsons are almost grown now, while my youngest grandson and only granddaughter haven’t learned to talk completely, but this grandma hangs on every word understood and loves trying to teach them new words. There were sad times when I couldn’t watch them alone, the way I did their mother. I managed until they could crawl.

Whether a visually-impaired mom or a blind grandma, there were emotional times. Being unable to read books to any was tough when I was still an educator in my heart. Rather than focus on what I couldn’t do, like teach colors, do crafts, color alongside, I focused on what I could. Those are the memories I still embrace.

Pity, nor being responsible to take care of me was ever portrayed in our home. Everyone helps each other by sharing strengths. I believe my kids and grandkids don’t think about my not seeing, but they are observant to the needs of others they meet.

For Mother’s Day this year, make sure you love your mother for who she is – not what she does for you. In the same manner, don’t fill your mind with regrets from the “should’ve’s” and “could’ve’s.” None of us are capable of being the perfect mom so embrace the good parts this year and let the rest go. Happy Mother’s Day!

© 2019, Jena Fellers. All rights reserved.