Patience

Puppies are like young children, sometimes impatient with priorities in the moment and nothing long term of importance. This is how our Ozzy is, his world being about the here and now with no tolerance for waiting, it’s ALL about Ozzy. It occurred to me recently that Ozzy is teaching Corey (as well as the rest of us) about the attribute of patience. What he lacks out of inexperience we are learning to wait, ever so patiently, for. We are educating each other. Yesterday, while waiting for Ozzy and his ever so patient mentor, Molly, to finish their outdoor duties, Corey yelled out the window for them to hurry. His insistence causing me to suggest he be patient, which precipitated, what I consider, a rather profound conversation between my son and I. “Corey, you need to be patient.” and then rattling on as I sometimes do, not expecting a response, “Patience is a virtue.” What came next was a simple yet brilliant question that I did not anticipate, “What does that mean?” Seizing the opportunity I said, “Patience is good.” To which he replied, “Yes, patience is good, Mom.” This was a first for us, a question from my child, born of an abstract comment, in which I answered and he clearly understood. Yes, patience is a virtue…

Transition

My son’s eighteenth, and final, IEP was Thursday. Not thinking beyond one year I went prepared to defend his right to arrive at school on time (his bus is chronically 20 – 40 minutes late), discuss educationally relevant skills to be worked on, and the importance of increasing his ability to express himself as he prepares to enter his adult life. Introductions were made and everyone was smiling as Corey’s sweet, young teacher, who we all adore, began with, “Do you plan to have Corey participate in the graduation ceremony next spring?” What? Graduation? Again? Next spring? When did this happen? How did this happen? I had been preparing for this moment for the past four years and the words still left me feeling like I’d been hit by a speeding car while crossing the street for a casual conversation with the neighbor.

In the past I have considered myself a person who embraced change and met obstacles with innovative fervor, but on this occasion as I began to fully comprehend the magnitude of the discussion, I am for a moment, left feeling inept and overwhelmed. Is the ground work we have laid enough for Corey? For us? The anxiety I have felt with each transition throughout his childhood comes creeping back and I find myself feeling foolish over the false sense of security I had been recently harboring.

I imagine most public schools are fairly comparable in their philosophies involving their special needs students, providing the minimum required and never exploring the possibility of there being choices beyond the typical. Corey’s school, his “Corey College”, consists of a self contained classroom with the primary focus being that of working on vocational skills and independence. His teacher is pleasant and caring, the older sister of a young man with special needs; this is her first teaching assignment and the affection she feels toward her students is obvious. Her youth brings with it an enthusiasm, sometimes missing for those whose profession has become routine.

This meeting, Corey’s transition IEP, was to discuss as well as document not only his educational needs for the following school year but also his needs as an adult. The paperwork, filled out before we arrived, stated my son with an IQ of 56 and minimal ability to express him self had no limitations indicating need for outside support as an adult. I wish I could say the disappointment and frustration I felt on this day was born simply from Corey’s teacher’s inexperience but unfortunately the seniors involved knew no more than she and in the end offered little advice.

Documents will be changed and with experience comes enlightenment but the “what if”’ still nags at my conscience. What if it had not been me but another parent who did not understand the consequence of what had been left out of their child’s portfolio? As it is the advice I was given at Corey’s “preadmission screening” four years ago was incorrect and he will be on a waiting list for at least five years before he may receive services and even then funding is limited. What if we had not planned for his adult life to be hinged on family support? I already know the answer. He would have been at home alone, just as several of his friends currently are, waiting…

Blackbird

I woke up this morning to this tune flitting through my mind. I have'nt posted in a while so I thought I'd share. It's such a pretty song, I think written by Paul McCartney. So many meanings...

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your lifeYou were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Black bird singing in the dead of night.
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life you were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly,
Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird fly,
Blackbird fly Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your lifeYou were only waiting for this moment to arise,
oh you were only waiting for this moment to arise,
oh you were only waiting for this moment to arise