direction
January 12, 2014 § 4 Comments
This year each day has felt tethered to a moment I could no more escape than I could ignore; the universal worries and intimate hopes that accompany a common childhood milestone exaggerated and informed by past experiences unique to our story.
Soon, on a day yet undetermined, we will gather as a family among educators, administrators, and support staff to begin our son’s formal transition from the familiar halls of middle school to the personal expectations that will manifest as an introduction to his high school experience. This occurs in a series of well choreographed routines as dictated by our son’s Individualized Education Program; a necessity of diagnoses that determine academic need.
I could note here the specifics of our son’s diagnoses, but each naming seems to undermine the complexity of his character. Instead I will introduce you to the process I engage each year to inform the language of his ability. Prior to each meeting I outline the resources that create success, the struggles that inform growth, and areas of risk alongside exceptional ability. My husband shares his perspective and our son outlines his goals so that we speak neither of or for our son, but rather to his well-being academically and emotionally.
Over the years I have come to seek counsel from experts whose experiences are both professional and personal in an effort to increase awareness and identify potential. Administrators and educators, parents and advocates, friends and strangers help me navigate choices whose weight is greater than my knowledge. This year I have drawn from these same voices until the collective din of contrasting counsel was deafening.
Yesterday, in the sleepless early morning hours, I let go of worries and wondering for a self-indulgent exercise in escapism. I closed my lap top and snuggled into my husband’s company to watch a movie. He had chosen a title unfamiliar to me, one that is completely irrelevant to this story, with the exception of one line in the movie’s dialogue that interrupted my distraction and sent me scurrying for a scrap of paper.
Just because you’re lost doesn’t mean you say your compass is broken. – Anthony Hopkins, “The Edge”
This language of direction could not have come at a more necessary moment. A gift of perspective guiding me to center myself in simple sureties and reminding me that we have the right to choose our own path. As others map possibilities by our son’s need, we have the burden and benefit of choosing a path that honors his potential.
I am no more certain of the days to come. This experience is one of humbling success and heartbreaking struggles; we grow into each moment uncovering rare souls who recognize the blessings within our challenges and walk with us in moments of adversity, learning more about ourselves as we evolve personally to cultivate resilience.
For today I am content in what I know and cannot predict, certain only of the love that guides me and the company of remarkable souls who accompany me on this journey. Instead I will gather my words and endeavor to breathe our son’s voice into the sterile language that occupies the dense pages of his Individualized Education Program least he is lost in assessments that cannot speak to the beautiful eccentricities of his gifts.
scribblechic 
Far too often the “education” gets lost amid the metrics. Too bad we couldn’t find a compass for it, too.
Often the compass guides us in a direction less traveled.
Well your encouraging post is reaching others as well. Our IEP meeting is in a few months and we will encounter many of the same emotions. I appreciate the lesson in grounding.
I wish you all the best for you upcoming meeting. I take great comfort in the company of loving families, like yours, who are navigating a similar path.