AUTISM: Goodbye, Mrs. Jones

Today was the last day of the school year, and I gotta tell you, it’s been a bit of a roller-coaster!

Those of you who have been with us since the beginning will be aware of our ups and downs. For everyone else, here’s a brief summary:

July 2009: Last day of term. Chipmunk is finally diagnosed with High-Functioning ASD (Asperger’s), after I fought for a referral and then waited a year for the Paediatric assessment.

July 2009 – February 2010: Chipmunk is diagnosed with many other conditions, including hypermobility, delayed muscle development, retained primary reflexes and an inability to visualise in 3D.

September 2009: Chipmunk starts in Mrs. Jones’ class (Year 2). She is firm but fair. She is ‘old-school’, which is what Chipmunk needs. Unfortunately, the early part of the school year is characterised by mis-communication (or just no communication at all) between the SENCO and Mrs. Jones. She is left out of the loop, I then feel she is not doing things properly, and a bad atmosphere starts to develop.

February 2010: The unspoken bad feeling culminates in a sarcastic comment left by Mrs. Jones in Chipmunk’s home/school link book. I write An Open Letter to Mrs Jones.

February – July 2010: The situation drastically improves. Mrs. Jones and I bypass the SENCO and have all necessary discussions face-to-face. Chipmunk is settled and happy. Mrs. Jones feels appreciated. I feel listened to.

Nobody knows or cares what the SENCO is doing.

23 July 2010: End of Term. End of Year 2. End of Chipmunk’s time with Mrs. Jones.

This is what happened today…

The little boy stood at the top of the classroom steps, scanning the sea of faces for his mother. Catching sight of her, he carefully made his way down the four stone steps – the ones that his teacher had spent most of the last year practising with him. Up and down, up and down. On and on until he was confident, until he could negotiate the steps on his own.

Watching him descend the steps towards her, his mother remembered how the teacher would stand and watch him from the classroom door, always smiling and clapping when he made it safely to the bottom. As he ran in his own, unique way towards her, she smiled at his grinning face and sparkling eyes. Always the last out of the classroom, today he was one of the first. He was excited and happy, clutching his lunchbox and his drink – and his book bag full of edible delights from his teacher and teaching assistants, as well as the rest of his school work from the year.

They were about to leave, when he pulled on his mother’s arm and stopped walking. Looking earnestly into her face, he said:

“I forgot to tell her I’ll miss her. I need to tell her.”

His mother nodded, and they walked back towards the classroom. The teacher was inside the door by now, checking on the stragglers, making sure everything was collected and accounted for. Looking after her charges until the very last moment.

As his mother waited at the bottom of the steps, she watched her boy slowly but deliberately climb back up to the top. He approached his teacher and stopped in front of her. Never one to make himself heard, he waited for her to notice him. When she looked over at him, he smiled and said simply: “I’ll miss you, Mrs. Jones”. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she smiled and said: “And I will miss you too, Chipmunk”.

He grinned. That was enough for him.

His task completed, the small boy gathered his things together and made his way down the classroom steps for the last time. His mother met him at the bottom and took his hand once more. Looking up, she saw the teacher standing at the top of the steps. Leaning on the guard rail, she was watching them leave. Catching the teacher’s eye, she silently mouthed two words: Thank You.

The older woman nodded, turned, and walked away.

The small boy and his mother left the playground. The small boy chattering and laughing. His mother quiet, reflecting.

Happy.

And Sad.

But mostly thankful – for Mrs. Jones.

I wonder what Year 3 will bring…

Tagged as: Asperger's, Autism, Chipmunk, Education, Life