We had the court hearing for Savannah's Conservatorship petition today and I'm happy to report I can now add Conservator to my list of titles. Hmmm, let's see, how many titles are there now? There's
Mom (I like that one), Doctor (nobody really calls me that, and even if they did, I wouldn't know who they were talking to), and Wife (I prefer goddess. Got that hubby?).
And for Savannah I'm her:
Teacher
Nurse
EMT
Pharmacist
Advocate
Lawyer
Personal assistant
Gopher
Chef
Maid
Mule
And now Conservator
I'm sure I'm missing some there but I was started to overwhelm myself. Maybe I can come up with an acronym for all that? I'm her TNEPALPGCMMC Okay, maybe not.
The hearing was short and sweet. The judge had a few questions and then granted the conservatorship. At the end, he said "okay then, thank you everyone, good luck parents." I liked this comment. Good luck. I think our luck is long gone as evidenced by our appearance here in court today Judge-man. Still, an appropriate thing to say as we venture out into the world to take care of this child . . . I mean adult. Then he said "dismissed," and Savannah started clapping. The previously stoic, all-business Judge cracked a smile as we walked out of court. As always, Savannah smiles despite epilepsy. And she makes the rest of us smile too.
Savannah's infectious smile
Smile like you mean it!
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
You've Been Served
When your child turns 18, most people think about things like "hey, you're an adult now" and "have you registered to vote" and "why don't you get a job". But not us. That would be way too conventional. No, we get to think about something called a Conservatorship. If you're not familiar with this loaded little word, let me acquaint you.
A Conservatorship is the process where you either get to pay a Lawyer lots-o-money to draft exactly 56 legal documents for you (or if you don't have lots-o-money, you get to figure out how to fill out these documents yourself in a painstaking process that involves at least 5 pounds of weight gain due to stress eating). The purpose of these exactly 56 legal documents is to, without sugar-coating it at all, take away Savannah's rights and give them to someone of "normal" IQ (namely us, her parents, although the IQ thing might be debatable), in an effort to protect her from being taken advantage of by the slime balls of the world. The seven rights being taken from her include the right to sign a contact, to consent to marry, to choose her residence, to keep her private records private, to consent to sex (betcha didn't know that was a right that could be taken away from you, huh?) and stuff like that. If that doesn't say Happy 18th Birthday, you're an adult now, then I don't know what does!
So as you can imagine, having to file for Conservatorship is about as much fun as dental work and IRS audits. And all kidding aside, it represents just one more blow delivered to us by the scourge that is epilepsy. 'You're daughter lived to be 18, yay'. 'Now you get to take away her rights'. I feel like one of those inflatable punching bags they sell for kids that you punch and they pop back upright. Epilepsy throws the punches, and we pop back upright . . . eventually. Thank goodness we have Savannah in all of this or we'd be insane.
In the process of filing for Conservatorship, Savannah had to be served with the court paperwork in case she wanted to protest. So we had our good friend Nancy serve Savannah the paperwork. And in true, beautiful, loving Savannah form, she smiled, hugged Nancy, said thank you, never opened the letter at all, and proceeded to sleep with the letter being hugged tightly in her arms that night. So as always, I have this great memory of my sweet, sweet daughter that will always overshadow anything sad about the whole Conservatorship process. She keeps me smiling. Thanks Savannah. Now go get a job. :)
A Conservatorship is the process where you either get to pay a Lawyer lots-o-money to draft exactly 56 legal documents for you (or if you don't have lots-o-money, you get to figure out how to fill out these documents yourself in a painstaking process that involves at least 5 pounds of weight gain due to stress eating). The purpose of these exactly 56 legal documents is to, without sugar-coating it at all, take away Savannah's rights and give them to someone of "normal" IQ (namely us, her parents, although the IQ thing might be debatable), in an effort to protect her from being taken advantage of by the slime balls of the world. The seven rights being taken from her include the right to sign a contact, to consent to marry, to choose her residence, to keep her private records private, to consent to sex (betcha didn't know that was a right that could be taken away from you, huh?) and stuff like that. If that doesn't say Happy 18th Birthday, you're an adult now, then I don't know what does!
So as you can imagine, having to file for Conservatorship is about as much fun as dental work and IRS audits. And all kidding aside, it represents just one more blow delivered to us by the scourge that is epilepsy. 'You're daughter lived to be 18, yay'. 'Now you get to take away her rights'. I feel like one of those inflatable punching bags they sell for kids that you punch and they pop back upright. Epilepsy throws the punches, and we pop back upright . . . eventually. Thank goodness we have Savannah in all of this or we'd be insane.
In the process of filing for Conservatorship, Savannah had to be served with the court paperwork in case she wanted to protest. So we had our good friend Nancy serve Savannah the paperwork. And in true, beautiful, loving Savannah form, she smiled, hugged Nancy, said thank you, never opened the letter at all, and proceeded to sleep with the letter being hugged tightly in her arms that night. So as always, I have this great memory of my sweet, sweet daughter that will always overshadow anything sad about the whole Conservatorship process. She keeps me smiling. Thanks Savannah. Now go get a job. :)
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