I woke up in a pretty good mood. I had a few things to take care of like working on an ad for an RWA publication that goes out to booksellers and librarians, but other than that I knew I’d have most of the day to write. Make some progress! Get some REAL page numbers behind me.
But on one particular morning I realized I hadn’t opened one of the envelopes I received in the previous day’s mail. I knew what it was, which is likely why I didn’t just rip right into it, at least out of curiosity. It was the registration papers for my oldest son’s school year, my 13 year old son with Fragile X Syndrome (a form of genetic mental retardation). In this state, even if your child goes to a Special Education campus as my son does, you still pay your home district as if that’s where your child were attending. No big deal; I’ve done it for years now.
So, I opened it up, checked to make sure the information was still current and correct. Everything’s fine. Until I look at the other papers they enclosed. I’d barely skimmed the cover letter, passed over the instructional checklist because I’m familiar with what they need. But there was another sheet enclosed this year, one that hadn’t been included before. A form asking for your child’s full name as it should appear on their eighth grade diploma. At first I ignored it. I wrote out the check, attached it to the registration form, then looked at that diploma request again. If only he were normal-functioning. . . he’d be getting a diploma next year, just like all the other kids his age in our neighborhood. If only he was functional enough to be included in a regular classroom, even if he needed the help of an aid. If only . . . If only they hadn’t included that form with this mailing.
Well, I stared at the sheet for a few moments, then put it in the pile of recyclables. He won’t be part of the big graduation event they make of the transition from grade school to high school around here. No cap and gown, no graduation dance, no graduation parties.
That’s when I lost it.
It’s amazing to me how one moment a person can be looking forward to the day, all ready to work on something incredibly fun, and in the next instant burst into tears of profound loss.
So . . . all that to say, how do I work, when my spirit is low and my mind no longer on my work-in-progress? Ever have that happen to you? Get blindsided by something that really messes up your best-laid plans?
Well, writing has always been an escape for me. And on some days those escapes are needed more than on others.
Maureen,
Can’t believe I just deleted this by accident….so try try, again.
I’m reading your blog!
Heee….You’re doing a great job and I’m enjoying them.
However, your recent blog about your son hit home and conjured bittersweet memories.
My brother Jay who’s mentally challenged wasn’t able to graduate from 8th grade or high school. It was sad to see him watch the rest of us celebrate our school accomplishments.
But God rewarded him. At age 18 Jay graduated with a Special Needs Confirmation Class from church that graduated with the regular class right in front of the congregation. It took him six years to take that simplistic course, but he made it through and wore a white robe.
Best part was that he’d always understood that Jesus died for his sins. Now he could quote simple Bible passages and knew the difference between Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
“Jesus was born in one and killed in the other,” he’d say.
The following year Jay received a certificate of completion for the second grade for the mentally handicapped. That’s when his formal education ended as he’d reached his potential to learn.
There was no formal announcement or doings at the school, but we threw him a huge party that included a robe and cap. My mom handed him over his diploma with a brand new fishing pool.
He got more excited over the fishing pool. LOL
Jay told everyone on the streets that he’d graduated from school.
He went on to participate in the Special Olympics and won several medals for running and jumping.
Now at age 54, he’s going down hill mentally and physically, but still remembers his graduation party, the robe hat and fishing pole. Those memories I will always cherish.
Maureen, even if there is never any official public recognition of your son’s accomplishments, even if the world never gives him ‘his day in the sun’, you can.
And most importantly, I know you will!
Love,
Linda
Hey, Linda,
Thanks so much for your note and for sharing about your brother. What a wonderful story. Thanks for the reminder to celebrate what we can – those little joys along the way. It’s interesting that your brother still remembers his special day. My son has great long term memory, too, so I’m hoping he’ll have some great memories throughout his life.
I hope I can follow the example your mother set, and create some of those wonderful memories. Thanks for the inspiration!