Hey Bucko,
Two days ago you started your third week of kindergarten and man, you have come an incredibly long way. There was a time where the professionals that you have been evaluated by, gone through hours of therapy with, been in special programs with, stated you would most likely go through school in a special ed program. You were too withdrawn into yourself. You would isolate and not involve yourself. You did your own thing. Your sensory problems could be too challenging. That yes, you were unusually intelligent, just in a different way. That
learning the traditional way may not work for you. You learn
differently. That would have been 100% acceptable. Being in a special education program would never have made you less or diminished your worth or value. You were, are, and have always been perfect. You will always be perfect and who you are supposed to be. If anyone tries to tell you different, then they are fools. LuLu and I have always talked about how you know something that we don't know. You're in on something that most people are unaware of. That we, and the rest of the world, are the "different" ones. That we're the square pegs in the round hole and not you.
Here is the thing though; you made all those professionals liars. It's not that people didn't think you could move past the struggles that made your everyday life challenging and eventually go to "regular school". It's just that "regular school" wasn't the point of therapy. The point was to help you be able to go to a store and not be overwhelmed by the lights, and noises, and sounds. All that work was so that you could touch certain things without coming so unsettled that you would lose control for hours. That you could wear clothing, because listen, being naked rocks, but you can't walk around that way without getting arrested. We wanted to avoid jail time if we could. Much of the time you still hate wearing underwear under your pants though (for some reason just underwear is ok apparently), so we don't push that. There were other things, but lets move on.
I would be lying if I said that everything has been rainbows and puppy
dogs. You know it hasn't been. When you grow up, I know you will find
this blog most likely. You are going to see how extremely hard it was.
How our days were filled with tears. How I was spinning out of control
because I had no idea how to help you and many of our days felt
impossible to get through. There were months that I felt like I couldn't even see straight. Jagger, I hope that you can see in all those
post my utter heartbreak and devotion and undying love for you. I pray
it every night and may times daily. I beg God to make sure you not only know, but that you
also feel my insane, intense, unfathomable love for you.
Bubby, you have cried buckets of tears, bled, puked, been exhausted, gotten
stuck with needle after needle, had numerous MRI's, EEG's, and other diagnostic testing. You have taken different cocktails and blends of
medications for years now, had seizure after seizure, been
hospitalized, ridden in ambulances, been dismissed by people,
bullied by a teacher, and misunderstood by your parents. Many times you bucked up and agreed to do things that felt impossible to you. Your pediatrician in Florida saw you a little bit before we moved out here to Texas, smiled at me and said, "He is an absolute miracle. A complete miracle. Do you understand that? He's a miracle!"
You stood toe to toe with your diagnosis and all it's challenges, and Jagger, you kicked it's ass.
We love you deeper than the sea and further than the moon. We are
insanely, fiercely, and ferociously proud of you. You have been our
teacher. We know we are not out of the woods yet. We know that there
are some things that right now we are not understanding and it's hurting you. We
know that, we are working on it, and we will fix ourselves to meet you
where you are at. We promise you that always. We will never leave you hanging. Ever. Jagger, we are tremendoulsy thankful every day for you. We are thankful for the lessons you have taught us. We all are. Everyone who has ever been blessed enough to spend time with you has mentioned that there is just "something" about you. "I can't put my finger on it," they say. "It's just something in there." We agree.
So, on your first day of kindergarten, Daddy and I cried. While all the other parents were crying because their little babies were growing up, your Dad and I cried for another reason. We cried because you starting kindergarten in that class meant something different. Something bigger.
My sweet, precocious boy, that single first step over the threshold meant everything. It meant that you have won.
Hey Rosetta
Into Your Lungs (and around your heart and on through your blood)
a thousand suns (you can listen to it here (its number 11 on the player))
everyone around wants to give you their thanks
everyone around wants to give you their hands
we want to thank you so much! we want to thank you so much!
may every breath you breathe be built on sacred things
and i don’t wish for this alone
these are twisted times when trust and truth collide
when a stranger’s love could make your heart explode
i want to give it all back! if i could give it all back
i'd send a thousand suns to warm your worthy lungs
and i don’t wish for this alone
everyone around wants to give you their hands
everyone around puts their hands on your back
and they say: we want to thank you so much! we want to thank you so much!
cause all you did for them, you also did for us
what you’ve done is not yours alone
what you’ve done echoes on and on
(on and on and on)
Recent Comments