In his shoes

Wednesday - Today I’m writing from an especially emotional place.  My heart, which could never be called tough by any stretch of the imagination, is about as tender as it can get as of the writing of this post.  It’s raw and fragile and quivering.

This afternoon, David and I snuck into Stephen’s school (that sounds bad, but we didn’t want him to see us and think it was time to go) and, in the nick of time, got to see Stephen presented with an award for walking over 80 miles during the school year in P.E.  Only five 5th graders earned this award – that our baby is one of them is certainly cause for celebration.  And for heartbreak.  And tears…

In these shoes, he walked around the track, holding the hands of those entrusted with his care and instruction.  Not always willingly (at first) but with determination, he walked.  He wore holes in his shoes, step after step.  He has trekked through the halls of his school, met with constant smiles and hugs because that is what Stephen brings out in people.  He has skipped, jumped, and laughed in those shoes – surrounded by adults and children alike, all offering unwavering support, kindness, and love. 

 

Stephen getting his PE award

In those battered shoes, he walked to the podium today to get his medal, not understanding the applause, not full of pride for his achievement, but smiling because his beloved Heather was with him, guiding him and loving him as she’s done for three years. 

As David and I watched him, I experienced such a rush of emotions, I could barely stand.  My sweet little man, walking with the people who have cared for him so sweetly…amidst a sea of kids who have grown up with him, and who have shared their lives with him in the best ways they could…  My heart swelled as I watched him walk, fingers in his ears to block out some of the sensory information.  In an instant, I thought of this innocent soul, plodding along in his bulky pull-up, so very different than the kids surrounding him.  I try to focus on the little pleasant things Stephen does, and his smile…but then there are times when the sorrow just washes over me, and I have to just let it flow.  He will never really know what happened on this day, but I will never forget watching him, or the smile on his face as he walked back to his seat.  In his own way, he felt special…and not in a “special needs” kind of way either.

So, in those ragged, worn out shoes, he walks through his life – comprehending very little about the world around him, at times outraged by the sometimes nonsensical nature of his environment, dependent on routine, difficult to deal with…exasperating, funny, exhausting, precious.  In these shoes, he dances and hops and twirls – laughing that belly laugh that warms my heart…

Thursday - Most posts I knock out in an hour or so, but this one is carrying over into the next day.  Today is Stephen’s last day at his school, and I’m just as teary and emotional as I was yesterday – or more so.  At this school he has been so happy, and so loved.  He won’t be going on to the school where his brother will be in 8th grade in the fall – they don’t have an autism unit and so Stephen is going to another middle school…new kids, new faces, new routines for all of us. 

Right now, as I look at the clock, he has about another hour at his beloved school…and he doesn’t know today is the last day he’ll be there.  He walked in this morning as joyfully as he has nearly every morning for 3 years…here you see him going across the crosswalk.  And that gentleman you see is Mr. Hughes…but Stephen calls him “Stop Sign.”  He’s nothing if not practical.

In my heart, I know that Stephen will probably do just fine at his new school, and that everyone will fall in love with him, just as they did at his old school.

And they have loved him.  So many precious people who have gone above and beyond what was required, and I am grateful beyond words for the way they walked beside my baby – literally and figuratively.

Stephen and “Ponder,” and with his sweet teacher for all three years, Miss Heather.

Stephen’s steps may never take him far from home.  He’ll always need someone walking beside him, watching over him as he follows the path available to him.  He is surrounded by people who love him.  We grit our teeth and get through the hard times (when going through hell, you know, you keep going) and we surrender to the abandon of laughter without reason.  As old-fashioned and clichéd as it sounds, sometimes when Stephen’s really pushing the limits of my patience, it really does help to think of how it must be to walk in his shoes…

And then my heart grows calm, and my love for him grows larger, and we keep walking.