would.” I take the card from her and pretend to study it. Not looking at her is keeping me from crying. “It would be great to have some guidance on all of this.” Maybe she can teach me, like a wise shaman, to find my inner Zen mama. To tackle the anxiety of the unknown and weave flawlessly through the maze of social services for Lily.
“Anytime, Caroline.” She smiles. “I mean that. You can call me anytime.”
I nod. If I say anything, I won’t be able to stop the tears stinging the back of my eyes. She gives a small wave to Lily, who is oblivious and focused on the iPad. Once Ms. Nix is gone, I let the tears fall. Careful not to let Lily see me, I hide in the bathroom and weep. No matter how hard I try to deny the limits of Lily’s capabilities, the vast reality of her condition is barreling toward me like a speeding train. One that’s going to come off the rails the second it hits the station, wiping out everything in its path.
“Caroline?” My head snaps up at the sound of Audrey’s voice. The tissue in my hand is long past its usefulness, so I wipe my face on my sleeve.
Great. Just effing great.
“Come on, now,” Audrey clucks at me like a mother hen, gently gripping my upper arm and tugging me to my feet. “I gotcha.” I watch silently as she takes a washcloth from the shelf and wets it in the sink. With gentle hands, she wipes my face; it’s been a long time since anyone has taken care of me like this, and her tenderness only makes me cry harder.
“Sweetheart,” Audrey coos, “why don’t you take a break and let me play with Lily?”
“Thanks, Audrey.” I sniffle. “But I’m all right.” I lie, because I’m ashamed. I should be able to handle myself without falling apart. Audrey puts the washcloth down and takes my face in her hands, forcing my chin up and my eyes level with hers.
“I insist,” she says firmly. “Besides, Lily needs to catch me up on this iPad thing.”
This isn’t a battle I’m going to win, so I let Audrey straighten me up, hand me my purse, and point me toward the elevators. While I’m waiting, I can’t help but think about what’s happening on the seventh floor. Still, scary-splotchy Caroline isn’t the friendly face I want to present the next time I see my stranger. I want to be someone he can talk to, not someone he wants to run from. Until I can figure myself out, I’m not much use to anyone else. Whether I want to be or not.
talk
T he hum of lunchtime activity in the cafeteria keeps my feet moving away from the noise and toward the doors to the patio. Sunlight shines between the towers of the hospital, casting a single pocket of warmth on a lone picnic table. A beacon for my refuge. I take a seat and pull Cameron James’s business card from my purse.
Cameron James
Parent Advocate / District Liaison
Exceptional Education for Exceptional Children
The thought of finding placement for Lily without assistance is far more frightening than calling this person—and yet, I find myself terrified.
Why? What are you afraid of?
I flick the card against my fingertips while I go through a mental rundown. I knew the day would come when Lily would have to start school and we would have to make a decision. I just never thought we’d have so little choice. The reality is, Lily isn’t suited for a general-education setting. I know this, and yet I have avoided discussing it at all costs. In fact, it’s not something I have ever talked about with anyone.
Not Peter.
Not Paige.
No one.
Talking about it makes it real.
Therein lies the problem: I’ve separated my head from my heart, to rationalize what I’ve done. In my head, pretending nothing is happening is just stupid. It’s not like I’m keeping some big secret; everyone who knows us knows that Lily has special needs. But in my heart, formulating the words and expressing my fears makes everything all too real. Instead of addressing the conflict, I just keep hiding from it.
Who do you think you’re
“Anytime, Caroline.” She smiles. “I mean that. You can call me anytime.”
I nod. If I say anything, I won’t be able to stop the tears stinging the back of my eyes. She gives a small wave to Lily, who is oblivious and focused on the iPad. Once Ms. Nix is gone, I let the tears fall. Careful not to let Lily see me, I hide in the bathroom and weep. No matter how hard I try to deny the limits of Lily’s capabilities, the vast reality of her condition is barreling toward me like a speeding train. One that’s going to come off the rails the second it hits the station, wiping out everything in its path.
“Caroline?” My head snaps up at the sound of Audrey’s voice. The tissue in my hand is long past its usefulness, so I wipe my face on my sleeve.
Great. Just effing great.
“Come on, now,” Audrey clucks at me like a mother hen, gently gripping my upper arm and tugging me to my feet. “I gotcha.” I watch silently as she takes a washcloth from the shelf and wets it in the sink. With gentle hands, she wipes my face; it’s been a long time since anyone has taken care of me like this, and her tenderness only makes me cry harder.
“Sweetheart,” Audrey coos, “why don’t you take a break and let me play with Lily?”
“Thanks, Audrey.” I sniffle. “But I’m all right.” I lie, because I’m ashamed. I should be able to handle myself without falling apart. Audrey puts the washcloth down and takes my face in her hands, forcing my chin up and my eyes level with hers.
“I insist,” she says firmly. “Besides, Lily needs to catch me up on this iPad thing.”
This isn’t a battle I’m going to win, so I let Audrey straighten me up, hand me my purse, and point me toward the elevators. While I’m waiting, I can’t help but think about what’s happening on the seventh floor. Still, scary-splotchy Caroline isn’t the friendly face I want to present the next time I see my stranger. I want to be someone he can talk to, not someone he wants to run from. Until I can figure myself out, I’m not much use to anyone else. Whether I want to be or not.
talk
T he hum of lunchtime activity in the cafeteria keeps my feet moving away from the noise and toward the doors to the patio. Sunlight shines between the towers of the hospital, casting a single pocket of warmth on a lone picnic table. A beacon for my refuge. I take a seat and pull Cameron James’s business card from my purse.
Cameron James
Parent Advocate / District Liaison
Exceptional Education for Exceptional Children
The thought of finding placement for Lily without assistance is far more frightening than calling this person—and yet, I find myself terrified.
Why? What are you afraid of?
I flick the card against my fingertips while I go through a mental rundown. I knew the day would come when Lily would have to start school and we would have to make a decision. I just never thought we’d have so little choice. The reality is, Lily isn’t suited for a general-education setting. I know this, and yet I have avoided discussing it at all costs. In fact, it’s not something I have ever talked about with anyone.
Not Peter.
Not Paige.
No one.
Talking about it makes it real.
Therein lies the problem: I’ve separated my head from my heart, to rationalize what I’ve done. In my head, pretending nothing is happening is just stupid. It’s not like I’m keeping some big secret; everyone who knows us knows that Lily has special needs. But in my heart, formulating the words and expressing my fears makes everything all too real. Instead of addressing the conflict, I just keep hiding from it.
Who do you think you’re
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