Adulthood. And a gentle push.

I spent three hours this afternoon in another wonderful “deep dive” session with Dr. Mary Morningstar and the National Down Syndrome Congress. This one focused on transitioning students from high school to adult lives, which is not only my professional passion but also a personal one. Transition into adulthood represents the culmination of over 13 years of hard work by families, teachers, service providers, support staff and, of course, the students themselves. It is the whole reason we do this work, day after day, year after year. Educators passing the baton as our kids grow. It is the finish line – what life looks like when all the hard work of school is done.

And while I learned about transition resources and ideas, I was unprepared for the one thing that I should have been prepared for – a mindset shift. I think of transition as my son transitioning into his adulthood but I was leaving out a very important term that Dr. Morningstar used often – an inclusive adulthood.

That struck me. Because sometimes I think I see Ian in his bubble, or maybe it’s my bubble. My quest as his mother to always protect him, especially because in some ways he is very vulnerable. Or maybe it’s me who is vulnerable? No matter whose bubble it is, I saw him in it. Safe. Structured. Ok.

Today made me really think of the future I imagine for Ian, the one I want for him and the one he wants for himself. The question is, had I really, truly thought about letting him live it? Dreams and reality intersecting can be really scary.

Dr. Morningstar shared a quote from two parents of a child with a disability about the importance of community and it resonated with me. Drs. Ferguson and Ferguson said, “The more hands there to catch him when he falls the better. We firmly believe that the more deeply embedded Ian is in the life of his neighborhood, workplace and the city in general, the more people there will be who will notice if he is not there and who will work to keep him there as a member of the community.” This speaks not only to their son and to my son, but to all of us. A sense of belonging and, conversely, a palpable void when we are not there.

I needed this nudge, this gentle push, this mindset shift. An inclusive adulthood. Ian, a thriving member of our community, valued and included. The way he is in school now. Expecting the same for him as an adult. Being vulnerable is a legitimate emotion, and so is fear. But they can also hold you back. And I won’t be the person who holds my son back. The more hands, the better. Now I just have to let go of Ian’s hand. I can do this. And so can he.