Charmaine Austin and Kim Dodaro have been close friends for 12 years, ever since the two women met through a support group for parents of children with cerebral palsy. Like any mom friends, they frequently finish each other’s sentences, crack each other up, vent over the phone, and compare notes on everything from where to find cute girls’ clothes at bargain prices to the risks and benefits of scoliosis surgery. They have shared plenty of tears (both sad and happy) over the years, but they’ve shared even more laughter, in part thanks to their bulletproof sense of humor and in part because both Kim and Charmaine simply feel blessed to be moms. They feel blessed to have sons who don’t have disabilities, and they feel just as blessed to have their daughters with cerebral palsy. “Having a child with special needs is not a bad thing,” Charmaine insists, (and Kim agrees), “it is just different.”

Kim looks at it this way: “All our kids are ‘special,’” she says, “and they all have ‘special needs.’” Both women say they have become better parents, and better people, not despite the challenges of caring for their daughters, but because of those challenges. They are more patient, more compassionate, more open to giving and receiving support from family, friends and strangers, more connected to their communities and more appreciative of the simple joys life has to offer. They also see the influence their daughters have had in the boys’ lives, making them more steadfast in their values and quicker to care for those in need. Their families have been given a unique perspective, as they see it, a view on the world that allows them to appreciate the differences in all kinds of people.

Welcome to Holland

Twelve years ago, Kim and Tom Dodaro started a support group for local parents through United Cerebral Palsy after their first child, Olivia (Livy), had been diagnosed. Charmaine attended the first meeting, not long after learning that her own little girl, Camille (Cammie), also had CP, a kind of brain injury that hinders muscle control. (Livy, now 14, and Cammie, now 12, are in the same class at Ralph Richardson School in Carmichael and have been friends as long as their moms.) “I think because we are similar in nature, we just clicked,” says Charmaine of how her friendship with Kim began.

Charmaine also recalls how grateful she was to Kim and Tom for organizing the support group. “It was something that I really needed at that time. When your child is first diagnosed, it’s so overwhelming and it’s so sad at that point. You have so many questions, and you want to feel like you’re not alone—”Charmaine’s husband left just two months after Camille was diagnosed, adding to her loneliness and grief, and making her eager to meet other parents who could understand what she was going through.

Kim also remembers that feeling: “You really don’t want to talk to anybody who has a perfectly healthy child, to be frank.” She recalls a co-worker who had a baby around the same time she did. Comparing notes with that mom—including all the milestones Livy was not reaching (not smiling, not pointing, not sitting up, those first words unuttered, first steps not taken)—was just a constant, heartbreaking reminder of the struggles her family was facing.

Tom remembers feeling the same alienation at work and having trouble relating to some co-workers. “It’s a very isolating sort of lifestyle,” Kim says, “and that’s why we need support. We just find comfort in our friends who are in the same boat.” The group eventually stopped meeting, not long after Kim and Tom had two healthy, energetic boys (Matthew and Joey are just 16 months apart), but Charmaine and the Dodaros remained close.

Both moms found too, that after connecting with other parents through that initial grieving period, they no longer needed the same kind of support. They had learned to accept and appreciate their lives, just as they were. They had learned to strike a balance between striving for improvements (with therapy goals, enrichment programs, etc.) and just letting their kids be kids, free from goals or objectives. They learned to move on. “I want my daughter to be healthy,” Kim says. “I don’t want her to have pneumonia or things like that, but I wouldn’t want her any other way. I think she’s the way she’s supposed to be.”

To describe that adjustment, Charmaine fondly refers to a short essay entitled "Welcome to Holland," by Emily Perl Kingsley. Kinsley, whose son was born with Down syndrome, likens all the joyful anticipation of expecting a child to planning and preparing for a dream voyage to Italy, and the shock of having a baby with special needs to having your flight rerouted to Holland. “It’s just a different place,” she writes, giving parents permission to mourn their dreams and expectations while also encouraging them to embrace, enjoy and learn to appreciate the place they’re in.

Welcome to Life

Livy is having back surgery this summer. She’ll have vertebrae fused and rods surgically implanted down the length of nearly her entire spine, to treat a scoliotic curve threatening to squeeze her internal organs if left unchecked. The marathon surgery (10 hours, the surgeon estimates) and the difficult recovery period that loom afterward have Kim and Tom understandably worried.

Cammie also has a significant scoliotic curve, but Charmaine says she is just “too afraid” to risk having her daughter put under for that long. “Cammie has a lot more issues than Livy,” she explains. “She’s a lot more fragile than Livy.” Listening to the two moms compare notes about surgeons, risks and rewards, and the worries that accompany that decision, it’s easy to see the importance of having someone to talk to.

“I worry constantly about Cammie,” Charmaine says. “My life would be totally lost without her, and yet—you just never know. We have had a mutual friend who has lost her child, and that was really, really hard for us... because always in the back of your mind, you’re thinking about that. And yet we just kind of move forward and do the best that we can…” says Charmaine. “Because it could happen to our healthy kids as well, and to us,” Charmaine reasons, doggedly shifting to a more positive perspective.

“That’s right,” Kim says, “We try not to think about those things, but it does affect our lives. The last memorial that we went to, it was really hard. It was a child that the kids went to school with, and it was a very unexpected death. He was fine, and then—he passed away.” Kim recalls all the therapists, friends and neighbors who gathered at the family’s house to fondly remember this little boy who had touched their lives. Family vacation photos throughout the house, including snapshots from Disneyland, displayed some of their happiest moments.

Kim recalls coming home, after the service. “A Disneyland On Ice commercial came on the TV, and Livy looked up and she started clapping and squealing—just happy—and I said, ‘Oh my gosh. That’s it—we’re going!’ Because you never know when it’s going to happen, it’s so important to live life.” The family leaves for Southern California the week before Livy’s surgery, to make some happy memories of their own and to give Livy plenty to smile and clap and squeal about before she heads into the hospital.

In many ways, Livy and Cammie are two very lucky kids. “Even though our girls have disabilities, they are in households that just cherish them,” says Charmaine. “We just love our kids!”