The things people say.

A few years ago, I was at a friend's house, enjoying an afternoon of lunch and girl-time.  There were four or five of us there, as I remember, and I knew just my two college friends.  We had such a nice time, with the kiddos playing and the mommas sitting around the kitchen table talking about life in our 30's.  Olivia, of course, was playing alone, oblivious to the pretend play and running around of the other kids.  My happy girl was just that.  Happy.  No need for anyone to join her or pay attention to her.  Just happy to be.

Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned to school, and a story was shared about an autistic child who was violent to the point that it wasn't safe for the other kids in the class.  The story continued, with the mommas sharing opinions about how unfair it was to the other children for "those kids" to be included in a regular education classroom, especially since it is so obvious that they don't belong there.

At that time, Olivia was three years old (I think).  She was not yet diagnosed with low-functioning autism, but we were deep in the valley, beginning to wrap our heads around the idea that her disabilities weren't just delays.

However, the conversation struck me like a fist to the stomach.  I had to fight the tears, and I lost the battle, so I left the room with Olivia and tried to gain composure.  I really didn't want to be that crazy emotional girl who cries in front of strangers.  I managed to get it together and joined the girls for the rest of our afternoon.  Despite the years apart since college, my friend knows me well, as she emailed me the next day to ask if the conversation had upset me.  Hopefully, I concealed it a bit better from the rest of the group.

Here's the thing:  I get it.  I get that our children should feel safe in school.  How can that happen when you are worried about a chair being hurled across the room or being hit by another child without reason or warning?  I get that.

But, that day, all I could think about was how that could be my child.  My girl.  My baby.  She could be the one that bites another child or throws something.  It could be my child who is the topic of conversation at the table full of mommas, talked about with a slight sense of disgust.  And I would be seen as that parent.  The one who is obviously in denial about what her child needs and can't recognize the burden she is placing on everyone else by insisting that her child be with normal children.

Back then, I could live most of the time in my little bubble of a life, with a beautiful baby girl who still didn't stick out too much because she was calm and cute and still the size of a toddler.  Then, in a split second, I found myself trying to breath without sobbing, spiraling into the dark pit of The Future, making up stories about how bad our life would be in a few years.  I'm telling you.  It was a fist to the stomach.

If I could go back, knowing what I know now, would I have said something?  Would I have left the room in tears?  I don't know.  But, here's what I think I would want to say:

Your child is your world.  You love him/her so fiercely that it literally makes you ache sometimes.  Nothing and no one will stand in the way of what you perceive to be the best for your child.  I understand that.  I feel exactly the same way about my children.

That autistic child you talk about?  The violent one?  He has parents, too.  And while I know there are some worthless parents in this world, I'll bet you that the parents of this child are probably a lot like you and me.  They love him so much, it hurts.  They want what's best, and they likely struggle with what that means more than most parents do.  While you are wondering which first grade teacher is the best for your child, his parents are wondering if they will have to fight the school system for a full-time aide.  While you ponder whether or not to sign-up for basketball this year, his parents are wondering if he will ever be invited to a birthday party.

I'm not trying to imply that your journey is less important or trivial.  I just want you to take a moment and think about their life.  It's filled with doctor's appointments and therapy and fears and doubt and uncertainty and guilt.  All wrapped up in a love so immense that it takes your breath away.  No, your journey isn't trivial.  But, don't be so consumed with your journey that you are forgetting about the journey of those around you. 

Did you ever stop to think that your child can learn something from this experience?  That YOU could learn something from this experience?  Did you ever stop to think that maybe you could help?  It's not right that your child's safety is compromised.  It's equally not right that this autistic child is required to live without the help and support he needs to function outside of his world.  Maybe the regular education classroom doesn't suit his needs, but I promise you that the decision to put him somewhere else isn't as easy as you think it is.  Remember, we all want what's best for our children.  But, there are no guidebooks.  And as hard as it is to make these decisions for your typically developing children, I guarantee it is magnified for parents of special needs children.

Stand up.  Fight for what's best.  But, while you stand up for your child, please remember to extend a hand to help the parents of special needs children.  They would like to stand up, too, but sometimes they are so overwhelmed, they can barely hang on.  Sometimes, they are so deep in a hole, they can't even find a footing.  I promise, the last thing they need is your pity.

Just for a moment, please think about what it's like to be that child.  Even the one that throws things and is so different from your child that you don't believe he belongs.  He does.  Somewhere.  And he deserves the same compassion that you would want someone to give your child.