Wear It Like Armor

"It means she is deaf."

Nothing, nothing can prepare you for the moment you find out your child is different. Not strange, or odd, but that their bodies are fundamentally "broken." When anyone says the word "deaf" to me, even now, it feels like the moment that changed our lives forever, a heart stopping stab to the chest.

It is a lonely world to live in, for both child and parent. For me, having seen the aftermath of five different deaths of children within the first year of my child's birth, I learned to be gracious that my little one was with me at all. I saw the parents who hid away the pain, of having to smile through the tears. And I started to feel guilty for mourning the loss of my child's hearing.

As I grappled with learning to talk about my difficulties with parenting a special needs child, I felt the gap between myself other parents widen. How could they complain to me about their child having a slight speech delay? My child may never speak or hear my voice. I began to resent those around me, while they were speaking of their own challenges, I just wanted to shout to them that their children were alive, and could hear and speak.

I had not stopped talking for months about the upcoming show, Game of Thrones, and how it was going to be a fantastic fantasy series. I had not read the books, but I had read enough articles, and seen the trailer, and I knew this one seemed destined to be different. Those around me simply smiled, that smile you get when you know they don't really believe the words you speak.

The first episode drew me in, like everyone else, with its strong characters, fantastic acting, and beautiful costumes, and set design. And the subversion of expectations, done well, that changed everything. Bran being pushed out of the window changed the face of storytelling forever.

There was nothing too emotional that first episode, though I cried. When Tyrion speaks to Jon about never forgetting who you are, and wearing it like armor, the tears flowed freely. Those little lines, written by George R.R. Martin so long ago in his books, challenged my own perspective of the life my daughter and I had been given. A seed of courage was planted that day.

As the years pushed on, I learned to accept, and even laugh in the face of our hardships. My daughter was implanted with cochlear implants, and I could make the joke that when her "ears" came off at night, I wouldn't wake her with the crazy sex I could have. And sneaking up on a child that normally doesn't hear you coming is extremely challenging. She is used to not hearing someone approach, so she doesn't react. When she is caught doing something she knows she isn't supposed to, however, it's the jumping and screaming you could only hope to see in a movie.

I loved seeing Bran, a child who learned to accept his physical challenges, and the day to day reliance on those around him. I finally saw on screen a realistic take on raising a "different" child. While it is a fantasy, this is the best, and one of the most watched, adaptations of how hard our lives can be.

One character stood above the rest, however, in my eyes. Hodor, the one word man that others didn't understand or pitied. His death, it broke me. I sobbed like I had not in years, since the days my child sat on a breathing machine, her fate up in the air. The most heroic death of the entire series came not from any warrior or queen or king, but from the one man who never asked for anything. The one who, like my daughter, had a lack of vocabulary, but never of heart.

Game of Thrones inspired me to write again, a talent I had sidelined during this crazy thing called life. Bills, stress, children, work; they can easily drain the passions you once held onto so fiercely. A bed, television, even video games, can easily welcome you too, and those passions can sit unused for years. For me, they have been awakened, just as Dany's dragons were, a lifetime ago.

I've had my dark moments, the times that would win an actress an Oscar if they ever had to act it out on screen. The days I said I couldn't get up and face the day. The days that I cried in the bathroom so no one knew how much the depression held sway over me. The days I would collapse on the floor, crying out the frustrations and injustices we have faced. The moments where I had lost faith in my abilities, and that our lives would ever change. And in those moments, where no one was there to remind me of how far I had come, I would whisper to myself that I too, had the blood of the dragon. That our story was not going to end this way. And I would rise.

So, I set out now to the west of Westeros, to the unknown. The boat has not yet docked, though I can feel the water's mist upon my face. I have a little brunette next to me, the one climbing the carts and wearing helmets, who is never afraid to make fun of anyone bigger than her. And I've made it this far, not matter how broken I once was.