The Green Eyed Monster
I will be the first to admit. I am not perfect. I do
believe one of my strongest traits is my ability to self reflect and acknowledge
those short comings. I strive to do better and be better. But sometimes, in
between those moments of reaching the pinnacle of “supposed” human perfection,
I’m flawed and normal.
I have anxiety and doubts and sadness.
I even have been held captive by the Green Eyed Monster.
He’s the one that tells me to worry, he tells me about what
could go wrong, he tells me how unlucky I am. He likes to creep around, jump
into my thoughts.
He came with me a couple of weeks ago to Noa’s school
orientation for Kindergarten.
The idea of “normal” school has been one of the most anxiety
provoking, stressful times in my life.
We have been grappling with the idea of school for next
year. Will he be able to go to a “normal” school with “normal” kids? Will he
understand how to participate in class? Will he have friends?
Would it be better/easier to send him to an Autism School?
We have spent countless hours and days discussing this with his
therapists, his paediatricians, family and friends. We have been lucky to find
a public school that has a dynamic staff and inclusive program for little ones
like Noa.
So here we are at a school that Noa is supposed to be at for
the next 6 years.
It’s the information night for kids starting Kindergarten
next year.
All the parents seem young, happy and excited. The kids were
all told to bring a favourite stuffed animal for storytime. Noa doesn’t have
one. We brought one but he didn’t understand he was supposed to carry it with
him…
When we arrived, all the kids were placed into a large art
room where they had various activities set up for them to do.
They were supposed to create a piece of art for story time.
Noa went from table to table. Touching things, feeling items but unable to sit
and “create” something for story time. He was excited, happy but in his own
world. People would talk to him, a couple of the teachers would try to engage
him but he would keep doing whatever was interesting him in that moment, not
acknowledging their presence. I would explain to them that he’s autistic. Thankfully
they all seemed unbothered about the challenge of a child like Noa in their
class but my anxious brain worried that they would ask not to have him assigned
to them.
It was time for the story. All the kids sat down on the mat,
faces turned towards the teacher. Listening to the story about a lost dog…All
except for Noa, who continued to wander and touch things. He was like a silent
shadow, no one noticed him and he didn’t notice them.
I watched 30 little faces all semi listening (as 5 year olds
do), squirming a little on their little Kinder mats. That’s when I felt him…the
Green Eyed Monster. He was over my shoulder, telling me how much he wished that
my child could be sitting down, listening to the story, understanding it and
following the instructions. He told me that all these other kids were going to do
great next year and that Noa would be in a limbo, between his world and ours…never
fully there.
He told me that he felt sorry for me. That I couldn’t have
what they have…seeming perfection and normalcy. That instead I have long
meetings with lots of letters and lots of specialists all because Noa wasn’t
like them…
I closed my eyes and tried to fight it…to drown out his
voice, ignore that overwhelming feeling of pity and doubt.
And then she came, my hero, to save me from myself. She is
my strength and my fortitude. She is Strong Me.
She is the one that has figured out how to juggle it all,
that has made the sacrifices that create his safe, comfortable and loving environment.
She gets it. She gets *ish done.
She came in, looked around and reminded me that normal is
just a perception.
“You know it’s ok”, she said
“What?” I ask, trying to pretend that I wasn’t just having a
full on pity party.
“To feel jealous…to want and yearn for what could be or
would be. It’s a normal part of being a human.”
“I know”, I said. Now I’m feeling a little embarrassed. She has
caught me with him. He’s smirking at her.
She rolls her eyes at him and speaks directly to me.
“So, what do you want?”
“I guess I just want him to be happy, I want him to feel comfortable
and supported. I just want him to just be OK”
We both glanced at Noa who briefly looked at the children on
the mat then went back to lining up art supplies in a perfect octagon on a
table.
She asked me, “Don’t you think you can give him that?”
I looked right at him and for whatever reason, Noa looked right
up at me and smiled. Then went back to his ordering project.
“Absolutely” I said, feeling more empowered and less anxious.
Green Eyed Monster jumped up, “Don’t you wish you could switch
with someone, anyone in here??”
I paused. Thought about it and then answered, “No. I’m here,
where I’m supposed to be, taking care of the son I’m supposed to raise…ANNND I’m doing a damn good job if you ask me!”
He shrugs and wanders off, muttering the cartoon epitaph of “I’ll
be back”
She winks at me and tells me to stop being a wussie.
30 min later it is time to go.
Story time is over. I’ve met some parents, chatted with all
of the teachers and made it through the night.
Noa has successfully lined up most of the art supplies into
a series of different shapes. He’s content and happy.
“Come on Noa, it’s time to go”
He looks up, looks around and sees the children and parents
filtering out of the classroom.
“I went to Big School!” he says
“Yes you did! You did great! Let’s go home”
He takes my hand and we walk to the car. He is now
chattering about shapes.
I buckle his car seat, Mr. Green Eyed Monster is hanging
around, waiting to get in.
I close the door right in his face.
“Not today buddy, find your own damn way back”.
Strong Me has shotgun and we don’t have anymore room today.
