Heather could handle school or home, not both.
She was loving, volatile, hidden and protected by her wall that began construction at the age of three. Oh, but we tried Periodically Heather went to Group Camps that improved nothing and only taught her more ways to manipulate.
Despite all the ups and downs she brought with her suitcase we loved her. We wanted her as our third daughter.
Heather loved animals. She showed miniature horses. When she returned from "camp" Heather also had a horse to ride.
Heather loved all the people here. Dad with Alzheimer's seemed to connect with her most. He would give Heather great advice at dinner each night while she smiled that sweet deceptive smile.
She chose the colors of her room. We built shelves together. We poured over catalogs to order pink beaded curtains, lime green bed clothes and an orange rug. Her room. Her choice.
Heather took it from our hands when she escalated her violence. Throwing the rocker at me was just one of many incidents.
It was tough. Heather made a bigger wall because she loved us too in her own way. Yet it frightened her to care for someone. All her life the people she loved hurt her, abandoned her and in the end that is what we did.
We loved her. We still do but we could not help her.
The frame is dusty but her picture remains. Still in the spare room. Heather, I'm sorry we failed you.
That is my regret.
For Two Shoes Tuesday