Denial
In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Smarter parents would have dumped them first. But they had been so good to Max. They had given him every service he needed, without me having to fight them, or even ask. They even gave him services I didn’t think he needed, like music therapy. A savvier parent would have had a clue. They weren’t throwing services at Max like candy at a parade just because he’s so cute and lovable (he is). They gave him services because he clearly needed the service. We didn’t have to fight because my precious child doesn’t know how to mask his disability, and is so independent and so doesn’t care what the rest of the world is doing that he doesn’t try to go along to get along. Which is awesome. Until you want to stay in your neurotypical school.
I loved Max’s service providers. And boy, did they love Max. But I should have known when Max got suspended. And I should have had a clue when the CSE chair suggested opening our relationship (seeing if Max would be a good fit at other schools, just casually). Really I should have figured it out when Max spent the last three months of the year in a closet sized office with a teacher and aide.
But I was super upset when they broke up with us.
It’s not what they called it. It was “finding a better placement, with more appropriate services.” And “being fair to Max.”
But what I heard was, “Your kid is awful. And we’re kicking you out.” They were Just Not that Into Max
And we were in such denial, we were willing to fight to stay. We even met with a legal advocate, who informed us that, sadly, if the school couldn’t provide the services that Max needed, it didn’t make much sense for him to stay (the best thing about this meeting was that the advocate was British and informed us that he spent July 4th “staying at home and sulking.”)
Off Max went to BOCES. And like idiots, we assumed he would be able to return some day.
Anger
The soundtrack to anger is Beyonce’s Lemonade album. Sweet, sweet, painful bitterness. I have been betrayed and I am righteously outraged. I am getting to be an age where it’s not very hard to incite myself to anger. This is just one more thing to add to the (long) list. I’m angry at the superintendent. I’m angry at the school board. I’m angry at the school district. I’m angry at the entire system that makes it easier to wash their hands of the difficult kids and ship them somewhere else, particularly when there is ample space and money that could be utilized to keep the kids in their home districts. I’m angry that the system favors neurotypical kids who already have advantages. I am enraged that the school has a practice field with artificial turf for a football team that is shared with two other schools. I am freaking livid that there is a brand new “Innovation Center” that my child would love and can’t use. I would love to take a baseball bat to…well…name it.
Unfortunately, and unlike my child, I am an internalizer, so excuse me while I pop a Rolaid and deep breathe my blood pressure down.
Bargaining
This one is sad. Bargaining with someone who is clearly over you is not a good look. It wasn’t as pathetic as drunk dialing and begging the school to take us back, although I have considered several times calling the superintendent when Max is upset about not going to Letchworth, and perseverating about whatever school his BOCES classroom is in that year. If I have to listen to it, the superintendent should too.
But I did cry (this is nothing new). I did ask what behaviors they would need to see before Max could come back. And they, of course, assured me that Max could come back. Because plenty of kids come back. And I believed them.
And Max. Just really struggles with anger. And impulse control. And appropriately expressing feelings, big and small. And managing emotions. So we bargain with Max. When he asks about going back to Letchworth, we say, “you’ve got to get control of your anger; you need to learn to calm down.” Of course he understands this intellectually, but there is no bargaining with the primitive brain.
We met with the superintendent. We told him all our concerns about the special needs kids that can’t be served in the school district. We told him our concerns about our kid being bussed an hour away for school. We told him we were sure he could put his head together with other local superintendents to come up with a plan to bring the kiddos close to home. And it breaks his heart, this situation, it really does. I think I saw a tear. It could have been the fluorescent lights shining off his glasses, but no, he was emotional. I think he really meant it that time.
That was four months ago and I haven’t heard a thing. I want to believe he meant what he said about making a change, but I have my doubts. Like Beyonce said, “He’s always got them fuckin’ excuses/I pray the Lord he’ll reveal what his truth is.”
Depression
Depression when you get dumped by your kid’s school is one more depression on top of the life long grief of having a different kiddo. Different is not bad, but the worry is a bitch, because people are mean and dumb and it will take time for them to see his value, if they see it at all and then one day I will die and he will be alone. And of course he doesn’t have a typical childhood and when all your Facebook friends are showing pictures of their typical kids with their typical friends and their typical sports and their goddamn Student of the Month awards—of course, OF COURSE social media is only life’s highlight reel but it still sucks. There goes Facebook again, just punching you in the face with life’s differences.
And then he gets kicked out of the school that literally the entire family went to since time immemorial, and like all his people were there, and it’s just the dried up poop nugget on top of the whole shit sundae.
Acceptance
Welp. You do all the things your therapist tells you to do after a breakup. I blocked the school on Facebook. I avoid the newsletter.
It took more than a year and I know he’s in a better place…not heaven…but a 6:1:1 classroom. And I’ve divorced Letchworth. In my mind. And they’re still paying child support…to send him to a special program.
The stages of grief are not linear, and we can go back and forth between one stage and another forever. The most difficult to let go of is anger. Because it just feels. So. GOOD. Especially when people come up and tell me that the school isn’t taking care of their children the way they should, and they’re angry too. I know that anger is like delicious, sugary food—it’s so tasty, but eating it all the time is only going to make you disgusting inside and out. But the anger is a balm and it makes me feel, well, validated and not crazy.
I should really be stretching for acceptance. Doing some support groups; starting a parent support group within the school. Telling my friends that Letchworth and I are no longer together and I wish them well but couldn’t care less what they’re up to now.
Truth is, it wasn’t ever Max that was the problem. It was Letchworth all along. And it’s time to move on.
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