Let's start with the fact that Teddy is not able to communicate, verbally or otherwise, what happens to him at school. He's going to a brand new school with likely a brand new team of therapists (that won't be determined until after school starts) where he knows no one. (OK, that's not true. I discovered last week my goddaughter and her cousin go to the same school, but they are in much older grades and likely won't cross paths often, if ever.)
That means that if something horrible happens to him, I won't know unless someone tells me. That means that if he has a miserable day, I won't know unless someone tells me. That means that if someone makes fun of him, I won't know. That means I will have no idea how he spends his day, what he does in therapy and whether he's enjoying himself and making progress ... again, unless someone tells me. That means I won't know when he does something amazing or makes someone's day with his mega-watt Teddy grin ... unless someone tells me. I won't know who his friends are or if he even is friends with his classmates. I'll know nothing unless someone tells me.
I know I can work with his team to get regular communication and key updates, but just think of all the little things children tell their parents about their days that I never get to know. And now that I'm in tears, I'll move on with my laundry list of stress points in a handy bullet point list:
- Teddy had a horrid time with his bus rides home from school last year for the first two weeks, screaming hysterically the entire ride home. At least I could get a report from AJ about what happened because I felt like neither the bus driver nor the aide were willing to speak to me or even make eye contact when I helped a sobbing Teddy off the bus day after day. I really don't want to repeat that experience, especially since there's no AJ riding the bus with Teddy this year.
- I worry about Teddy being picked on. I know he will be. I know kids will stare, laugh, point and do far worse things because he is different than them.
- I don't want AJ being picked on because of Teddy ... or AJ hearing other children making fun of his brother. I know both will happen, probably not this year at school but still on my list.
- I realized that Teddy is one of the 11 most profoundly disabled children in his age bracket in the entire school district. One of 11. And given what I know about his class last year, I'm going to go on a limb and guess he's one of the 5 most profoundly disabled children in his age bracket. This was somehow an epiphany to me despite being with Teddy much of my days, taking him to therapy and knowing his strengths and challenges. Somehow, it never occurred to me in that context until this week. Most of the time, when I'm not stressing about school, Teddy is just Teddy and that's perfectly normal.
- Then I wonder how on earth our home school, where AJ is going this year, will accommodate Teddy next year? I can't even picture what that looks like because Teddy is at such a different skill set than other children his age.
- Then I worry about Teddy and AJ being at different schools and all the additional questions and stress points that come along with that topic.
- The next illogical step for me somehow jumps all the way to Teddy moving into the adult service world and living in a group home because I'm afraid he'll require that high of level of care ... and feeling like a horrible parent for contemplating placing my child outside our home and wondering if group homes will still exist or if we'll move backward as a society to institutional care because it's cheaper and blah blah blah.
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