This evening, I turned on my Facebook account and skimmed through the news feed. There was a post from Melissa, my little Katie's former teacher in the Easter Seals Early Intervention School, telling about some children in her class who demonstrated new skills today. Her post instantly took me back in time, a little over two years. The tears began to flow anew, and now I can't get that beautiful day out of my mind. Often when that happens, I'll post some little bit of it on Facebook and it is enough. But today, I think I'll journey a little deeper into my memories and try to share it here.
Katie is a special little girl. I remember as a child liking to be told I was special, and then, when I got older, it took on a less appealing meaning, connected to "special education." I remember a friend in high school who drew a cartoon of two women. One wore a t-shirt that said, "I'm special." The other (more attractively drawn) wore one that said, "I'd rather be dead than special." I laughed then. Well, my Katie is special. To me, she is the most beautiful, amazing girl in the world, and I'm so honored to be her mom. (She interrupts me now, "Mommy! A mingamail!" She has a snaggy fingernail; I "fix" it for her. "Thank you!" she says, running off.)
Well, I don't want to go into all the challenges she has faced, or faces. Suffice it to say that when she was quite small, and showing more and more delays, I finally accepted that I needed more help. Ohio's "Help Me Grow" program referred us to Early Intervention schools, giving me a choice of locations. I chose Easter Seals because of their location, which is less than 2 miles from our house. I figured they were close enough that I could drive her; I could not bear the thought of carrying her out to the bus and handing her over to the bus driver. We were lucky; they had an opening right away. It was only a couple of months before the end of the school year. I would drive Katie to the school, we would hang out together in the lobby until the teachers came out to get the children. Ms. Pam had the youngest class, and she and her assistant brought out wagons every day to gather the non-walkers and all the backpacks. I would cheerfully say goodbye and wave as they pulled her down the hall. For the first couple of weeks, I walked out to the car and cried my eyes out for a few minutes, and then drove home.
You see, even now, it is unbelievably hard for me to accept that I was not the best teacher for my daughter. That I am not the best teacher.
At the end of that school year, Katie had made some progress. By no means was she "catching up," but she was learning some new skills. I used her progress as a way to beat myself up regularly. I told myself that if she had those teachers earlier, maybe she wouldn't even be delayed now. Maybe it wasn't that she was delayed at all, just that I wasn't enriching her enough. (I'm not known for having a lot of self-esteem.)
We had to take the summer off, and then Katie went back for her "second" year. She had new classmates, a new teacher, Ms. Melissa. She loved it. After a while, I was able to drop her off and go without crying, but I was always so happy to see her after school. Best of all, she was always happy to see me. It was definitely the best part of the day, when I would come in and see her face light up.
Dropping her off and picking her up every day, I got to know some of the other children and moms. One day in early December, I had gotten there a few minutes early to pick up Katie after school. Brian's grandmother was there to pick him up, too. What a little cutie he was, riding in the wagon to and from Ms. Pam's class! But this particular day, when the electronic doors opened, there stood Brian, grinning from ear to ear. He was strapped into a little walker, and with the help of the physical therapist, he came through that doorway laughing. His grandmother laughed and cried, and standing behind her, so did I. It was a beautiful thing to witness. At the same time, I was painfully jealous.
Dropping her off and picking her up every day, I got to know some of the other children and moms. One day in early December, I had gotten there a few minutes early to pick up Katie after school. Brian's grandmother was there to pick him up, too. What a little cutie he was, riding in the wagon to and from Ms. Pam's class! But this particular day, when the electronic doors opened, there stood Brian, grinning from ear to ear. He was strapped into a little walker, and with the help of the physical therapist, he came through that doorway laughing. His grandmother laughed and cried, and standing behind her, so did I. It was a beautiful thing to witness. At the same time, I was painfully jealous.
Being Katie's mom is simultaneously the most fabulous thing I've ever done, and the most gut-wrenching. Seeing smaller children reach milestones beyond her capabilities, I will catch myself staring. I don't remember what is "normal" development any more, so these babies toddling around at church seem terribly precocious! I look around at the faces of the mothers and they don't seem amazed, so I try to just smile, but I keep staring. I think Katie might have been sitting up alone by that size, but I'm not sure.
The next day, when I came to pick up Katie, I was a minute to two late. As I walked up to the door, I saw one of the other teachers running back into the building from the bus, and heard her call, "Here she comes, Katie!" Since the buses were still there, I knew I wasn't overly late, but I walked a little faster, worried that Katie might be upset.
I think everyone from the Easter Seals staff had come out that day to watch. There was Katie, strapped into a walker, hands on the grips, laughing and smiling. She walked two or three steps toward me, and the walker turned to the right; she wasn't quite strong enough to keep it going straight yet. Someone pointed her toward me again and she took a few more steps. It was all I could do to not rush to her and scoop her up, walker and all! The delight and pride on her face as she walked to me, to her mommy, was so perfectly beautiful. I cheered and sobbed, and cheered again, and sobbed again.
The next day, I had my oldest son with me, and Richard had the presence of mind to suggest I pull out my cell phone and record some video. Unfortunately, I didn't know how to override the phone's default timer, so I have very little of the actual walking recorded. However, I am very thankful that my phone has a camera.
(Apparently the video is saved on our other computer, and not this one, so I'll link this to my FB account for now and download the real thing later.)
Katie Walking at Easter Seals
The next day, when I came to pick up Katie, I was a minute to two late. As I walked up to the door, I saw one of the other teachers running back into the building from the bus, and heard her call, "Here she comes, Katie!" Since the buses were still there, I knew I wasn't overly late, but I walked a little faster, worried that Katie might be upset.
I think everyone from the Easter Seals staff had come out that day to watch. There was Katie, strapped into a walker, hands on the grips, laughing and smiling. She walked two or three steps toward me, and the walker turned to the right; she wasn't quite strong enough to keep it going straight yet. Someone pointed her toward me again and she took a few more steps. It was all I could do to not rush to her and scoop her up, walker and all! The delight and pride on her face as she walked to me, to her mommy, was so perfectly beautiful. I cheered and sobbed, and cheered again, and sobbed again.
The next day, I had my oldest son with me, and Richard had the presence of mind to suggest I pull out my cell phone and record some video. Unfortunately, I didn't know how to override the phone's default timer, so I have very little of the actual walking recorded. However, I am very thankful that my phone has a camera.
(Apparently the video is saved on our other computer, and not this one, so I'll link this to my FB account for now and download the real thing later.)
Katie Walking at Easter Seals
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