THE CONTRAST
There are two ways which I can interpret the freak snowstorm that blanketed my finally thawed out yard with 4 inches of snow this 31st of March morning: as a hellacious set- back, or as a beautifully wild reminder that I cannot place my need for progress and stability in the hands of the weather. This evening, as the evening before, the sun warmed the earth against the backdrop of the bluest skies 2015 has yet to produce. We ate dinner together as a family while the ducks swam in the mini-pond and the snow continued to retract, exposing our marshy, brown-green grass. This theme of contrast webbed its way into the rest of my day as well. One child was shaving in the bathroom downstairs, while the other child simultaneously pooped their pants on the living room carpet. Tim wiped said hiney while I used a wooden skewer to scoop out poo from the cracks in between my white, farmhouse planked floor. Who said marriage wasn’t romantic?
Whitney had her IEP* this morning. I have been looking at that date on my calender for over a month now. Not dreading it, but properly and militantly guarding my heart from the root canal this tends to be emotionally. The meeting went well. Praise be to God she has met her previous goals, and continues to progress in every area. I heard her described again today as a mystery. That’s a fact. She is coming along, but has more along to come.
After this meeting, exhaustion set in. The kind of exhaustion that sneaks its way from your soul into your body without you noticing how and when. After an attempted recharge rest on the couch while my kids blessed me with mostly quiet, I drove to the park for a run with my partner. Talking to Bobbi on the way over, I finally figured it out. The contrast. The root canal. The heart fatigue.
After 6 ½ months of a prolonged and challenging parental season with my Whitty, the tides have seemed to turn. She was in a consistent state of combativeness and bad attitude throughout most of her day during this arduous season. I couldn’t bribe or distract my way around this. I had to meet and deal with these will issues head on, day by day, one by one, in patient love (ok-not always patient- but trying). Having not had the same expectations on her as a welcomed part of our family, she assumed her role as the center of our family, and for better or for worse, she was correct in her assumptions. Therapies, doctor appointments, meetings, naps times...so much of our everyday life was altered and set according to her needs. Thats what families do. But as the dawn of her 4th birthday arrived, what Whitney needed was training in the attitudes of the heart, and in self control, according to her abilities. And she was able. So, for six months I was near worn out and surviving by way of enduring, as her Mom. When I say the tides began turning last week, I mean that our winter was leaving and spring was arriving, concerning her. Potty training was resumed for the 3rd time, and she was finally, finally, successful in that she demonstrated she could use the potty. Of greater importance, though, was her willingness. Every time I called for her to come to me, she would stop what she was playing with and walk on over, cheerfully navigating the balancing challenge of stepping over and through her books and toys. She was sweetness multiplied. Her spirit released joy and peace in our home. My Whitney had displayed the first fruits of mastery over her emotions and will. I have spent the last week and a half swimming in joy over her emerging potential. She can use the toilet, and as any parent with a 4 ½ year old in diapers will tell you- that is life changing. Not so much for what it is but for what it represents: independence and possibility.
But then, the IEP.
The root canal about it is this: when I am with Whitty, and all is well, I feel a peace about her and her future. Not an assurance, mind you, but a peace. When I am sitting in an IEP meeting with all of these therapists and specially licensed professionals, with all of their data, and suggestions, I have to fight inside. I have to fight for that peace, that faith that her future is good, and God has a plan. I cried on the phone for 20 seconds today because I also have to fight, 1 on 1 combat style, loss and grief. See, IEP’s are not normal steps in the normal education process. An IEP, on our end of the scale, means that things are NOT normal. She is not normal. She is a child with a disability. For 60 minutes I had to look at Whitney through the eyes of her having a disability, in order to be present and objective, and appreciative of all of the diligent work of her dedicated teachers and therapists. However, IEP meetings are, for me at least, part of the reminders of the disappointment, it stokes grief. Yet, there is also a call to balance the tension between the ‘What If’s’, and cultivate thankfulness in the ‘What Are’s’, always leaning more towards the latter. In truth, this isn’t confined to parents of children with disabilities...it marks and cuts us all.
By instinct more than anything else, when I feel the din of fear arriving, and after these intense doctor or school appointments, in which my confidence as a parent is challenged on a molecular level, I hold her. I wrap her up in my arms, and snuggle her under her down blankets, with the sun shining all around us. I tell her that she is smart, and funny, and wonderful, and beautiful, and amazing. I tell her that I am so proud of her- for how hard she is trying, and for her sweet heart and her good attitude. And then I tell her, a thousand times over, in between a sea of kisses, that I love her. And in contrast to the silence that has always followed those three sacred words, she answered back today.
I love you, too.
*IEP- Individualized Education Program-A federal law called the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) requires that public schools create an IEP for every child receiving special education services. The IEP is meant to address each child’s unique learning issues and include specific educational goals.
