There were all these great ideas, but busy-ness took its toll on time and imagination, and I sat in front of Ryan with my hair all wet. Thing is, I didn't do even this well last year, so I guess that's an improvement, eh?
I put the blank card in front of him, telling him what to write. Actually, I had written down what I wanted him to say. His handwriting is pretty great, but his spacing of words leaves something to be desired. But what do you say to these people?
What do you say to someone who has helped your child?
What do you say to someone who has endured the screaming, self-injurious behavior, and the flat refusal to do anything at times?
What do you say to someone who fell in love with your child despite all that?
What do you say to these people who come in our lives, sometimes still a little nervous about all this, then exit in our last meeting, confident and seemingly ready to go on to the professional world?
Ryan has had three ABA student therapists, and we've been crazy about all of them. Each of them brought something great into our home through our son. Each of them listened to me at my most awkward in the first meeting. You know, the one where you're trying to tell them what this kid needs to work on. I always find myself grasping for a coherent sentence while really just wanting to cry and say "why don't you just come home with me for a week" because that is really the only way to know us.
By the end, we can talk about the things that are hard, I can ask if I'm crazy about this or that, and my favorite thing... telling them what we're doing in a certain area and asking that fun question. "By doing this, are we screwing him up?"
Yeah, sometimes I just can't sound intelligent. The desperation to do the right thing overshadows my need to sound smart. I just want to do what's best, and like I've said before,
Finding the right thing to do for these kids is like crossing a six-lane highway at rush hour, blindfolded, trying to find a nickel on the way.
Or maybe it's just us...
Nyaaah, probably not.
Anyway, we sure hate to see these ladies (and maybe young men someday) go. But I hope they all know how much we appreciate them, that they're prayed for, and that we're so impressed with them.
So we leave them, with a smile and gratitude and the offer of answering whatever questions they have out there. But they'll all always be in our hearts. And they are prayed for.
It's different, saying goodbye to our little guy. He kinda keeps looking around the room, doing his thing. I asked him to give Miss C a hug, and he leaned in and let her hug him. He waved and awkwardly, almost expressionlessly said bye-bye, and we thanked her about fifteen more times, and we were off to the little elevator.
Godspeed, Miss C. We thank God for you, Miss C, and all the others from the BARC to ECI to the school district who have worked to give us another piece to the puzzle... and sometimes, another friend.
Thanks be to God for the ones who give their lives to help others in ways not everyone considers.
I put the blank card in front of him, telling him what to write. Actually, I had written down what I wanted him to say. His handwriting is pretty great, but his spacing of words leaves something to be desired. But what do you say to these people?
What do you say to someone who has helped your child?
What do you say to someone who has endured the screaming, self-injurious behavior, and the flat refusal to do anything at times?
What do you say to someone who fell in love with your child despite all that?
What do you say to these people who come in our lives, sometimes still a little nervous about all this, then exit in our last meeting, confident and seemingly ready to go on to the professional world?
Ryan has had three ABA student therapists, and we've been crazy about all of them. Each of them brought something great into our home through our son. Each of them listened to me at my most awkward in the first meeting. You know, the one where you're trying to tell them what this kid needs to work on. I always find myself grasping for a coherent sentence while really just wanting to cry and say "why don't you just come home with me for a week" because that is really the only way to know us.
By the end, we can talk about the things that are hard, I can ask if I'm crazy about this or that, and my favorite thing... telling them what we're doing in a certain area and asking that fun question. "By doing this, are we screwing him up?"
Yeah, sometimes I just can't sound intelligent. The desperation to do the right thing overshadows my need to sound smart. I just want to do what's best, and like I've said before,
Finding the right thing to do for these kids is like crossing a six-lane highway at rush hour, blindfolded, trying to find a nickel on the way.
Or maybe it's just us...
Nyaaah, probably not.
Anyway, we sure hate to see these ladies (and maybe young men someday) go. But I hope they all know how much we appreciate them, that they're prayed for, and that we're so impressed with them.
So we leave them, with a smile and gratitude and the offer of answering whatever questions they have out there. But they'll all always be in our hearts. And they are prayed for.
It's different, saying goodbye to our little guy. He kinda keeps looking around the room, doing his thing. I asked him to give Miss C a hug, and he leaned in and let her hug him. He waved and awkwardly, almost expressionlessly said bye-bye, and we thanked her about fifteen more times, and we were off to the little elevator.
Godspeed, Miss C. We thank God for you, Miss C, and all the others from the BARC to ECI to the school district who have worked to give us another piece to the puzzle... and sometimes, another friend.
Thanks be to God for the ones who give their lives to help others in ways not everyone considers.
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