Back from the oblivion

Hello dear readers. Thanks for staying tuned during my brief intermission. I've been short of time lately and completly unable to blog. And I've missed it terribly.

This past Wednesday was Jack's first day of "special ed" classes. I drove him to daycare at the usual time and proceeded to wait for the bus to arrive. Not trusting two county employees I've never met, I felt the need to physically be there for his first bus ride.

We've been prepping for weeks, reading stories about buses and schools, even one "social story" written just for Jack by his new teacher. And when the big day arrived, he was excited (as far as I could tell) to ride the bus. I kept asking "Jack, who is riding the bus today?" and he would respond with an "aak" and point to himself.

When the announcement came over intercome system at school that "Jack's bus is here" his face lit up with surprise and astonishment. As we walked outside, the surprise was quickly replace with fear and the screaming began. The two county employees were cordial and tried their best to assess the situation, but there was no comforting him. I only had time to kiss him good bye and fasten his seat belt. He was completely petrified with fear and there was nothing I could do about it. The bus had a schedule to keep and I had to get off so they could move on.

As I stepped off the bus, the doors closed and the tears flowed. I couldn't help but feel that I failed him completely, that I made the wrong decision. I wanted to get in the car and chase the bus down. But I knew that was not the right thing to do. Instead I got in my car and cried.

Jack's journey has been a long one, full of challenging moments requiring more strength than I ever thought I had. Taking him in for general anestesia, for example, is never fun or easy. The stuff smells like jet fuel no matter what flavor lip balm they smear around the edges. But the fear doesn't last long, and I know he won't remember the experience when it is all said and done. There was no such comfort putting him on the bus, facing similar fears. I was a train wreck for the rest of the day. My nerves were raw and distraction from my concern was difficult to come by.

The next day, I chose not to be present for the arrival of the bus. Heidi, the social worker at his daycare who I've come to rely on, filled me in with the details that day. "He was great. Happily walked right on to the bus without a care in the world." Wow. He was playing me all along.