The first one was horrific. My butterflies were gigantic, and I felt like I was to blame. Why could he not be "normal"? Why? What did I do wrong? Blame.Blame.Blame.
The second meeting was after some tests. By then I was more informed, but yet. There was guilt and worry. Maybe if he had a sibling? Why can we not provide this to him? What did we do wrong? Why could he not be "normal"?
A meeting with a doctor, more tests. Testing provided measurable proof of something that we knew in our guts was true.
Meeting after meeting I became more aware of myself, of my son, of my family. Of factors that I could and could not control. Of laws and rules and medications. What is "normal" anyway? Are any of us truly "normal"?
And now today we have another meeting. This time with his middle school to discuss 504 accommodations. And while I still have the smallest feeling like I am going before a firing squad, I am in control and understand much more. I understand that this meeting is not about blame (there is none to place). I understand that we are his advocates, his voice in these proceedings. That what we say can provide his teachers tools in helping him in his day. This is a meeting to help my child. My wonderfully quirky, intelligent, frustrating, warm, kind, witty son. Each time at a meeting we get at least one person complimenting us on what a wonderful child he is.
And we are there to help him as we always have been. And while I don't think I have been the perfect mother, I do know that I am proud of him and know that I have and will keep doing whatever I can to help him become this wonderful young man that I see emerging.
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