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Graduation Day
Shalebug would have graduated today. Sure, it would have just been a kindergarten graduation ceremony, but to me (and likely all the other parents involved) it would have meant much more than that.
It would have been a reward to us parents for putting in our time, paying our kindergarten dues. Suffering through endless hours of trying to teach your child to tie his/her shoes, learn to write his/her name, learn how to read.
It would have been a reward for time spent as the class-mom, helping kids use scissors correctly and not amputating a digit while trying to cut out turkey shapes and pink cardboard hearts.
It would have been our reward for tying shoelaces, telling kids not to run in the halls, get your fingers out of your nose, and no, girls don’t have cooties. (After all, everyone knows cooties comes with age, and poor hygiene.)
It’s our reward for being snack mom/dad through out the year; for remembering to slice up those apples and even for that time when you forgot you were the mom designated to bake the cupcakes and had to sell your soul to the neighbourhood bakery to let you come in before store hours to buy some treats that you would try to pass off as your own. (Not that I would EVER do that. Snicker.)
All of the patience and energy we had spent the last ten months focusing on our precious child would be rewarded with the pomp and circumstance of watching our lovely kiddies march their processional, fidget, giggle, pick their noses and act proud as they waited to hear their names called.
I would have hooted and hollered and made an ass of myself the loudest. I tend to be known for that. I’m the mom that doesn’t mind walking up to the front of the gym to get the good photo, the mom who believes all children need to be applauded, not just my own.
And I would have been cheering wildly. Bug would not have grasped half of what the others in his class would have. He would not have been able to write his name, and I doubt he would have been able to recognize it in a group of letters. He wouldn’t know his colours or be able to tie his shoes and I’m fairly certain the concepts of numbers to him would have been like astro-physics to me.
But yet, he would have succeeded. He would have overcome his hurdles, the ones individual to him. He may have made it a whole month with out being hospitalized. Perhaps he would have been able to stand at the water table and not recoil with fear. He certainly would have shown the other children how to love. He would have taught them all patience and understanding.
He would have fostered a protective friendship with his group of peers, all of whom would have clamoured to give him a high five, or sit next to him at circle time. They would have wanted to help him use his computer, the one that gave him a voice, and he would have been the coolest kid in the class for it. They would sit next to him at snack time and eat his pudding for him, because that’s what friends do. After all, Bug couldn’t eat it, he wouldn’t have minded sharing.
The really brave kids would have asked to help feed him and would have felt like professional nurses when they squeezed water through his g-tube with shakey hands. They would have filled up his syringe with water and squirted each other with it until one of the teachers took it away and admonished them with a look.
Through it all, Bug would have laughed. He was his father’s son that way. A tease, a joker and always easy going.
I imagine when Bug’s name was called, his dad would stand and proudly clap, while rolling his eyes at me, as I’m up at the front, telling Bug to look at Mommy so I could get a nice picture. Would he have walked to the front by himself, with a walker, or with his aide? Perhaps he would have been wheeled up in his chair if his feet were bothering him. I can see clearly in my mind his shakey hand outstretched to grasp his little photocopied diploma, his chubby fingers crinkling the paper.
Afterwards, we would have greeted the teacher and offered thankyou’s for all of her hard work, and patience and understanding while working with our special boy. I would have hugged his aide while trying not to embarrass my son too badly as I smothered him with kisses.
Then we would have proudly left the school with our son, the new graduate, to get ready for his next year of academic battles.
There will be parents who never had the opportunity to know us and didn’t understand my son, or his special personality and they will wonder why we cheered so loudly. After all, he didn’t accomplish the goals the other kindergartners did. They will wonder why he was part of the graduation ceremony when obviously he will not be attending grade one, instead, he will be part of an individualized learning plan, carefully put together to help him get the most out of his limited capabilities.
But I would have been tolerant of their ignorance, able to simply bask in in my son’s glory for the moment, before having to go back to our carefully constructed reality.
People don’t always see the value of people with disabilities, especially those with mental disabilities. By allowing our son to participate like all the other children, it would have been able to foster a sense of normalcy for him. More importantly though, it would have taught those kids in his class respect and acceptance. Bug would have taught them more than they were ever able to teach his malformed little brain.
He would have taught those kids, and some of those parents, the value of life, of love and of perserverance. All of this wrapped up in one wobbly, slimey, messy blonde haired little boy.
I know this, because this is what he taught every member of his family.
I’ll miss that today when I watch those kids fidget on the bench this afternoon, waiting for their name to be called, while peering hopefully out into the crowd, trying to find their parents or loved ones.
There will be one mommy in the crowd with no one looking to find her. But I’m okay with that. Bug found me. He knows where I am. And he knows that I’ll be the mom whooting and hollering the loudest for all the kids, while trying to hide the tears in her eyes.
June 22nd, 2007 at 8:25 am
Bug is beautiful.
And so are you.
June 22nd, 2007 at 8:32 am
Oh T…you make me cry. Bug is looking down on you today…laughing at you hooting and hollering…because he knows you’re there for him.
You are so wonderful.
Julie
June 22nd, 2007 at 8:37 am
Oof. My heart.
Nothing compared to yours, though, not quite as big.
The person who taught me all those things will likely be dropping in unannounced (but not totally unexpected) on me today. I’ll give him an extra-tight hug and one for your little Bug.
June 22nd, 2007 at 8:55 am
nope; couldn’t even make it through the first paragraph before the tears came. I’ll be thinking of you and your lovely bug today.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:10 am
Ugh.. I have GOT to stop reading your blog at work. They are going to think I’m bi-polar with the laughing and crying. You are an awesome person… and I love your blog and the fact that you share so much with us through it.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:12 am
I’ll be thinking of the two of you today. big hugs.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:27 am
Holding you in the light…
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:38 am
Yep, crying here too.
RM, you have a big, sloppy heart. And I love you for it.
Hugs to you today.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:39 am
{{{hugs}}}
I can sorta relate, but not fully of course. Thanks for sharing yourself here.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:42 am
He will be there today. Right beside you, as always.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:49 am
love you, T. {hugs}
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:57 am
I agree with not a mean girl… my boss just asked what was wrong with me. How to explain that I weep for you, and for Bug, and how he has taught me too - just from hearing your stories about him.
It feels weird to feel so much for people I’ll never meet.
Thank you for sharing this with us all.
June 22nd, 2007 at 10:00 am
Tears from an old guy in Washington. My wife works in a school district here, and they have a large contingent of special kids like bub. She does tech support, and often finds that she can create a way (with software or hardware) for them to be more interactive and get them to participate.
Those are her best times. Thanks for telling us about your little guy, and these amazing posts.
June 22nd, 2007 at 10:00 am
Wow. Us guys aren’t supposed to weep. But we do and I do.
Thanks so much for sharing your tribute to your son,
June 22nd, 2007 at 10:20 am
Just wanted to say that I stumbled onto your site from another site and I’m glad I did. You’re a funny woman and my heart goes out to you and your family. I am looking at my son as he wakes up from his very short nap:) and am ever so grateful for him and them (short or not) naps:) Thanks!
June 22nd, 2007 at 11:35 am
I never met Bug, I can’t even see his pictures on this computer. But I love your Bug. And you make me cry when you write about him; because I am sad for your families loss and because your pain is still so raw and unending. I hope you find peace eventually and it is no longer sad to think of him. I know you’ll always miss him though. And that’s an understatement probably… Your children are lucky kids…no matter if their friends think your nerdy writing this blog… they will love reading it eventually. like we all do.
June 22nd, 2007 at 12:11 pm
You make me want to hug you, and I’m not a hugger dammit.
I will admit, before “knowing” you I would have been one of those people who didn’t understand how much value there was in a handicapped child. Not that I wouldn’t have valued them as I would have any other kid, but children like your Bug teach the world so much. As you have proven.
Lovely, T. Enjoy this day.
June 22nd, 2007 at 12:21 pm
Oh T, you make my heart sqweeze, and my eyes all watery.
Hoot all you want, he’s watching, and he knows.
June 22nd, 2007 at 12:37 pm
Aw, T. You are an amazing woman.
Your Bug is there. He knows and he loves you for it.
And I do, too.
June 22nd, 2007 at 1:00 pm
Chills. Tear. Hugs. Your kids are so lucky to have such a smart, strong, amazing lady to call their Mama. =)
June 22nd, 2007 at 1:00 pm
Geez woman you have a knack at making me (and alot of others) cry. Your words are so powerful.
Those adoption “asshats” so need a copy of this!!
June 22nd, 2007 at 1:17 pm
I’m crying, thankyouverymuch.
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
June 22nd, 2007 at 1:25 pm
This brought tears to my eyes… You don’t know me, and I just found your blog today.
I have a daughter, she is 14. She is an honor roll student. But… when she was 2 she was in Speech therapy. We were offered the chance to put her into a “Reverse Inclusion” program. We jumped at the chance, only because the woman making the offer explained how much my Nikki would benefit while helping all the children with special needs. There were children with Down’s and Autism, and a multitude of things I had never heard of. Her being there taught us, her parents, more than I ever thought possible. She was in that program for 3 years. There is a boy that went to the same school that is now headed to high school. Nikki is still friends with him. At the middle school graduation, I think that I cheered extra loud for Eddie.
Your Bug is smiling. I’m sure of it.
June 22nd, 2007 at 2:06 pm
what an eloquent post from the marrow of your being! three cheers and more for Bug and his friends!
June 22nd, 2007 at 2:53 pm
Redneck Mommy, this is my second visit to your blog, and I read through some of your archives about your Shalebug. Your family is blessed to have you, and you are blessed with an amazing sense of humor. Laughter through tears. I know anniversaries and special occasions can be so hard. Take care of yourself.
June 22nd, 2007 at 3:34 pm
I wish I could have met him. He must have been the most special boy in the world, at least to his mommy. We know he was the smartest.
June 22nd, 2007 at 4:14 pm
I don’t think I can do anything more than offer you a hug and hoot and holler with you.
June 22nd, 2007 at 4:15 pm
Coming out of lurking to say…That was so beautiful. That is such a sweet picture of your son. I love the chubby little cheeks. The adoption people should be begging you to please take home a child and love him/her the way you love your Bug and Fric and Frac. Begging.
June 22nd, 2007 at 4:23 pm
You made me cry you cow.
I go away and come back to this…*sigh*
Love ya.
June 22nd, 2007 at 4:33 pm
Oh man. I don’t have any words for you, just thank you for teaching me what love is.
June 22nd, 2007 at 6:43 pm
I attended graduation ceremonies for 15 students today - all of whom have developmental disabilities to some degree - all below 60 IQ. There were hundreds of family members and friends and staff there to share this moment with them. Everyone is well aware that none of them are on their way to an Ivy League education, but to see them in their caps and gowns receiving their diplomas is all they wanted.
I would be there hootin’ and hollerin’ with you - much like I was today.
June 22nd, 2007 at 7:38 pm
Wow. The very first post I read of yours (Chicky Chicky Baby sent me!) and it’s this amazing one. My tears are flowing. Pleased to meet you.
June 22nd, 2007 at 9:13 pm
I picture you as Julia Roberts in the polo scene of Pretty Woman (Woo Woo Woo)!
June 22nd, 2007 at 10:00 pm
I sure do like your writing Mommy. The stories about your dead boy are touching as Mary Godwin and Percy Shelley’s first fog shrouded dates on Mary’s mother’s grave. But I still like the stories about you giving your old man a hummer better.
June 22nd, 2007 at 10:57 pm
I just….you know. Yeah.
Love and all that good stuff.
June 23rd, 2007 at 4:54 am
I am thinking of you bug today, your story’s of him have touched me very deeply. I have read all of ‘missing my bug’ and I wanted you to know how far he has reached. I am a nursing student in Melbourne, Australia we are currently studying disabilty, my assignment is on Meobus syndrom, for bug, it was something I hadn’t heard of before and bug made me want to tell others about it. Thank you for sharing him with me
June 23rd, 2007 at 9:05 am
you do Bug proud, T.
you bear witness to him, to his life, to all he taught you…which in turn, you’re teaching us. i think we all just saw him graduate, in our minds’ eyes, through your words. we get to share a little of your pride in him, a little of your sorrow. and at the next kindergarten grad we attend, we’ll see a little more clearly.
June 23rd, 2007 at 7:57 pm
oh, sister. painfully exquisite.
June 23rd, 2007 at 8:01 pm
You are made of finely spun steel.
From where do you gather your strength? And your humor? Spirit - irrepressible!
You amaze me.
June 23rd, 2007 at 8:08 pm
I love you T. I love your heart.
June 23rd, 2007 at 10:43 pm
I’m so, so sorry. I can see Bug now throwing his cap up in the air in Heaven and smiling down at you as you cheer him on. You are in my prayers.
June 24th, 2007 at 4:13 pm
As always, wonderfully written. Such a beautiful soul.
(((Big Hugs)))
June 24th, 2007 at 5:46 pm
(((T)))
I’m so glad I’ve ‘met’ you, and Bug, too.
June 25th, 2007 at 10:08 am
I had a post on mine last week about “Dreams I will Never See”.
This touching blog of yours is your version. I know exactly how you feel, for your dreams you will never see.
peace out!
June 25th, 2007 at 1:01 pm
You make me so proud to be a mother!! I don’t think I have words for how reading this made me feel: sad but at the same time happy for the time you did have with him. I think he would have taught the other kids everything you said and more. I send you both my heartfelt sympathy for the loss you are feeling today, but also a little bit of joy for what Bug brought to your life.
{{{HUGS}}}
June 25th, 2007 at 1:49 pm
I feel like I just graduated something.
June 25th, 2007 at 4:48 pm
And it would have been an honor to be reading this and seeing his little picture, grabbing that piece of paper from his teacher. I’d be cheering loud and clear!
But I’m cheering for that mom in the risers, watching the kids - You. I’m cheering loudly for you.
What a beautiful tribute, again.
June 25th, 2007 at 7:07 pm
Just - (((xoxoxo)))
June 25th, 2007 at 9:14 pm
thanks for teaching all of us the lesson Bug would have been teaching his clasmmates…
June 26th, 2007 at 7:28 am
Ok… love this blog!! Love it!!
It was nominated on our site as the best blog name - check it out!!!
- Audrey
Pinks & Blues Girls
* will be a regular here!
June 26th, 2007 at 8:58 am
I’ve lurked and dug through the archives for a few months now. Your courage is amazing.
I’ve noticed that when your blog falls silent for a few days its often because you are going through some difficult times or processing a particularly difficult milestone.
I hope the silence since June 22 is just because your computer is down.
((((hugs)))) and good wishes.
June 26th, 2007 at 9:20 am
Very touching….
June 26th, 2007 at 9:54 am
Luv, Bug….*sob* *sob*
June 27th, 2007 at 4:49 am
Your wonderful boy found a wonderful mother. *hug*
June 27th, 2007 at 6:33 am
You remind me once again why reading blogs is so important. Bug, you and the whole family are in our thoughts.
June 27th, 2007 at 11:13 am
Very nice.
You sure’ve got a way with words (even with cooties and all)
June 28th, 2007 at 9:17 am
I’m amazed that you can write about this, and with clarity. You really were/are the right mom for Bug.
June 30th, 2007 at 10:22 am
You make me love life and realize that hard times are just that … with tears in my eyes and my heart breaking I send you hugs and I send you the thought of Bug watching over all of your family!
July 3rd, 2007 at 9:57 am
[…] of grace and maturity. I hope to not let my Dad down. If I can handle it half as well as T at Attack of the Redneck Mommy has handled the curves life has thrown her, I will be happy. If you have never read T, you should […]
July 3rd, 2007 at 6:08 pm
I couldn’t comment on this post the first time I read it — words seem so inadequate in the face of what you’ve been thinking about, who you are missing. But please know I’ve been thinking of you.
((hugs))
July 9th, 2007 at 4:36 am
sorry i’m late to this. your strength astounds me and this post is beautiul.
July 15th, 2007 at 7:06 am
T-Sorry it took me so long to read this post. You really bring on the tears woman. I can vividly see everything you described. Bug was so lucky to have you and your Boo as parents.
January 17th, 2008 at 8:27 pm
[…] This right here is the shit I am talking about. Each time I eke out from under the terror, it is waiting to hit me in the face with a mallet. Thanks, terror. Ef you. I won’t go down this long path right now– you know I go there […]