That same day, as I lay across the bed trying to think about nothing, I of course thought of something. What I thought was this: if I called the Anderson School, they might have some news for me. Will they admit him or not? If so, when?
So I called the admissions department, got voice mail, and left a message. M came home a few hours later and we turned on Match Game. When the phone rang at 5:30pm, Anderson Center came up on the caller ID. I picked up the handset and a voice spoke and the voice told me Jonah has been admitted to the school and the residence as well.
They are thinking mid-August for the actual move. It is strange how I spoke calmly with the admissions counselor for about 15 minutes, asking questions, writing down classroom ratios, phone numbers – details I’d probably already learned. Finally, a fog of shock descended, making it difficult to speak.
I thanked her, hung up, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.
Then I lost it completely, sobbing in M’s arms, the fog-shock all around me. I felt a strange mix of panic, guilt, incredulity, rage, and a breath-knocked-out-of-you grief. It was what Oprah likes to call the ugly cry, with snot and drool and gasps for breath between fear-filled moments when there is no air and you drown in the sorrow.
Eventually the drowning became a wallow and the wallow became a silence and the tears came quietly in uninterrupted rivulets along my cheeks.Then I thought: why have I gone into this ridiculous state when I knew all along this was our goal, when we’d planned for months to do this thing, to tour the residential schools, to place him in a good one, to give him the best chance at living and learning and getting better?
And now what? Are there instructions for giving up guardianship of your nine year old non-verbal precious little boo, and living an hour and a half away from him?
Is there a solid path to follow, a rock to hold so you don’t float away on the waves of incredulity, a way that doesn’t hurt like fire?
Am I going to make it through the next 6 weeks? Am I going to make it at all? I have cried buckets, rivers, oceans of melodramatic tears. My weakness sickens me.
And there is a lot I am leaving unsaid. It is better that way; I want to forget so many things.
All I want to do is sleep.
“I don’t even try, I know I have seen the best I’ll have
I don’t even try;
I will just play dumb
I won’t hear a single word that’s said
I will bite my tongue
Never sing another song again”
~ Guster, Rainy Day
The Never Normal 
You are strong. You have strength you don’t know you have. And, when you think your strength is gone, Amazing Mama, when you think you can’t get up to take one more breath, I, along with many others will be here to love you through to the next breath, and the one after that.
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Ah, if only words could take away the pain but, like grief, this emotion must run its course. Have courage for a little longer – the next six weeks could be hard but once Jonah is safe at the school, you will know he is anchored, in a place where he is safe and sound and where you can see him, a place where he can grow into the boy you know he wants to be. This feeling of dread and of letting go will fade and be replaced by one of acceptance and hope.
That’s what I believe. That’s what I fervently hope for you.
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Melodramatic? Don’t do that to yourself! There has never been a melodramatic bone in your body when it comes to Jonah.
If I may…I think the breakdown was a final reality of all the dreams you’ve had…from the moment you felt him kick in your womb…all the dreams have finally been shut out for you. The dreams of him laying in your arms while you sing to him, the dreams of his dad and he playing ball together, the dreams of his gangly adolescence with the first feelings for girls, the dreams of watching him turn into a man, take a wife, bring you a grandchild…now I’m crying. You have to weep all the dreams. And weep, and weep…
Amy, cry for as long as you need, then realize you made the only decision you could have.
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It was the only decision. You tried everything else. I’m sure its terrifying but he will be better off with professionals and they WILL love him as he is very loveable! And someday in the not too distant future you will see the change in all of you- andy, jinah, yourself and m and you can find some peace in it. Love to you. Its going to be okay amy though its horrifying right now. Xoxo
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I’m going to ditto all these ladies above, they have said it better than I could. A hard decision, but one that is right for everyone.
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This makes me feel sad and happy. I guess that’s what happens any time there’s a big change. But I wonder if you know how brave you are? In this post, you said that you were sad, angry, guilty, shocked and an all-around mess. But the main thing that comes through to me is your bravery: for persisting, for acknowledging, for not fabricating easy answers (because there aren’t any) and for sharing all of this with us.
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