Ian’s IEP meeting was today. For years, I would walk out of that IEP room and walk as fast as I could to my car. Shuffling along with my head down, praying I wouldn’t see anyone. I would feverishly unlock my car door and pour myself in, slamming the door behind me.
Safe and out of sight, the tears would come. It is just so hard. Knowing that no matter how hard Ian works, no matter how hard I work, no matter how hard his team works, we will never, ever not sit around that table and talk about what he cannot do. There’s an emotion for that kind of despair but I’ve yet to name it.
The meetings where we hear formal assessment results and get grade levels for each and every aspect of his development are always the hardest. Your kid on paper, but reading that paper and not seeing your kid. And no matter how wonderful our wonderful team was, I would still sit in that car and weep.
Then shame would come. How could I sit here and cry about my son? He’s the hardest working kid I know, he’s up for any challenge, he’s fun and funny, he’s redefined everything I thought mattered. He is quite simply, as I often tell him, one of the best people I know.
It’s just hard.
A couple of years ago, Ian started joining us for his IEP meetings. He would share a PowerPoint that his wonderful elementary school special educator had him work on. He would tell us about his disability, what he’s good at, what helps him. He would sit at that table. Next to me.
And I started to notice, when I walked out of that room, I held my head up high. I would look at this kid walking right next to me, a reminder that he isn’t the sum of his struggles; none of us are. I no longer cried because I had him. We did this together.
Today, we had a wonderful IEP meeting. His first IEP meeting in middle school. His incredible team has gone above and beyond for our son. His amazing middle school special educator has worked tirelessly so our son is thriving during virtual learning in the middle of a pandemic. She shared all that he has achieved and all the ways he’s grown and all the ways he will grow. Ian shared his PowerPoint, what has been hard about virtual learning and what has helped him. All these people on that computer screen, here for our son. I think my favorite part of the entire meeting was when his special educator shared one of his comments in the chat — a bunch of emojis and “I am tired but I’m cool and I’m a rockstar.” Yes, he is.
Ok, I lied. That wasn’t my favorite part of the meeting. My favorite part was having Ian at the table, with us. Right next to me. My head was held high. And my only tears were ones of pride and thanks.