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Autonomy is a Kind of Monster, Too

February 25, 2013 in Featured, Future Glimpse by Robert Rummel-Hudson

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On Friday, after having lunch with Schuyler, we stopped by, upon request, to see her special ed director. Nothing was amiss. Someone had made off with the director’s copy of my book, so she wanted the three of us to come by and autograph another copy for her. After Schuyler sprang off to class, we stayed and talked for a bit. Before we left, we scheduled Schuyler’s next IEP meeting, and we were given some surveys to fill out before then.

Surveys for us, and surveys for Schuyler.

Simple surveys, nothing dramatic. And yet, in reading through them, we both felt an uneasy fear creep into the room, a fear that had certainly visited us before. Indeed, I’m not sure it ever really left. At best it might have stepped outside for a smoke now and then before coming back in and settling on the couch for the long haul.

These surveys addressed that most enigmatic of all of Schuyler’s monsters.

The Future.

Do you plan on the student living with you after graduation? If yes, do you need information on Agency Supports and/or Medicaid, information on how to obtain Guardianship, information on Assisted Living Facilities?

What is your vision for the student after high school (ie. go to college, trade school, rehabilitative services, etc.)?

Schuyler is thirteen years old, which means that these questions would seem wildly premature for a neurotypical kid. Well, comparing aspects of Schuyler’s life to those of a typical girl her age is an exercise that usually does no one much good. Schuyler isn’t neurotypical. She’s isn’t like other thirteen year olds. She’s not all that much like other kids with neurological disabilities, either, really. She’s far behind in some ways, innocent to the point of naiveté, but also wise beyond her years in a lot of areas that matter a very great deal. In a sense, the question of The Future is one that has occupied us for the better part of a decade now. The only difference now is that we’re doing so in an official capacity.

There are pieces of that future that are becoming clear. Yeah, she will live with us after graduation. Will she catch up in school enough that college would be an option? I want the answer to that to be yes, I want to tell you that she’s delayed, not developmentally disabled, but of course I can’t. She might catch up, she might clear away some of the fog. I personally believe that she will, but it’s not an objective belief. It’s a father’s belief, and I acknowledge that it may be overbelief. If so, I embrace it fully, without qualification. I think she’ll be ready for the world one day, and on her own terms.

But not as soon as her peers. And maybe never in the way that they will be. Schuyler’s differences are significant. Her life will be similarly different, and I anticipate it will require her to do so from our home, at least initially. Until she finds her own Island of Misfit Toys, she will always have a home with us. Her chinchillas will be here, so I suspect she’ll be okay with that for a while.

And yeah, I suppose if it comes down to it, her future may very well include us retaining legal guardianship. I’m not ready to state that unequivocally now, five years before she turns eighteen. The thought of assuming legal guardianship of Schuyler after she turns eighteen feels like we’re stealing something from her, taking away something that we’ve all wished for so desperately, the very independence we’ve worked for so hard.

But the thought of NOT doing so? Terrifying. And more to the point, it feels like the worst possible dereliction of duty possible. We know in our hearts how unlikely she is to be ready by the time she turns eighteen. Admitting that feels like a kind of betrayal, but nothing like the alternative would. When Schuyler turns eighteen, the three of us are going to have to make a very hard choice, and none of the possibilities feel exactly right.

Guardianship seems a likely outcome, and just saying that out loud brings a black sadness that I can’t bury. I leave that sadness sitting conspicuously in the corner, untouched for now. We’ll face it one day. We don’t need to just yet.

There are questions on this survey for Schuyler, too. Five or six pages, actually.

I am interested in a career in the field of… (Followed by a daunting list of choices.)

Place a check by the traits that you feel are your strengths. (Also followed by many, many choices.)

After high school, who do you plan to live with?

Well. I’ll be curious to see her answers. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is a pretty loaded question for kids with developmental disabilities. Judging from her early reactions to this line of discussion, the fact that those choices will be all hers is a daunting thought for Schuyler.

I’d be lying if I didn’t confess that the thought of handing over The Future to her is pretty terrifying to me, too. You can’t be surprised by that admission.

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Forward

December 31, 2012 in Featured by Robert Rummel-Hudson

So what to say on New Year’s Eve? Do I write a standard end of the year thing? List of resolutions? Best of/worst of list? Isn’t a NYE post just supposed to write itself?

Perhaps. But I’m not sure I feel compelled to look backwards this morning.

I’m thinking about the new year, and all the changes that are coming. Schuyler goes into 2013 as a newly minted teenager, and that’s something she is taking very seriously. Schuyler works hard to overcome her own demons, some of which are related to her disability and others perhaps coming from a different monster altogether. Becoming a teenager has convinced her that she needs to grow up a little, even though honestly, it’s something that I don’t think she really wants to do.

Like a lot of special needs kids, Schuyler is hard to pin down on any scale of age appropriateness. It’s impossible to say that she’s got the intelligence level of the maturity level of a certain age group. She is all over the map, as she always has been. In some ways, she presents as much younger than she is. In others, mostly emotionally, she is wise beyond her years. What you’re left with is Schuyler, as she is, an innocent (perhaps even naive) little girl and sober young woman. Another year will bring some big changes, but some aspects of who she is will stay as they are. And the trick of reconciling those different levels of growth will still be Schuyler’s to pull off.

Julie and I will continue to try our best, stumbling at times, striding confidently at others. We will continue to do what needs to be done at home while facing a world that doesn’t understand. “Oh, that’s just like what every teenaged girl goes through,” I’ll continue to be told by well-meaning commenters on Facebook. “Oh, I get that. My daughter went through the same thing, except of course she can talk and isn’t developmentally delayed and doesn’t have the threat of seizures hanging over her head. But still…” We will continue to smile as the world sees a little girl who presents so normally and who almost passes, almost, while we worry about a future that frankly, neurotypical parents just don’t understand. We don’t understand it, either, but we know it’s going to be hard, for Schuyler most of all.

There are a lot of changes waiting for her this year. One year hence, when we’re looking back on 2013, it may very well represent something very much like a whole new life for us all. But there will be certain things that won’t change. Schuyler will be Schuyler, the same weird and wonderful little monster-slayer that she’s always been. She’ll remain in the care of a loving mother and father, in a family that probably doesn’t look like yours but is nevertheless exactly right for us. She’ll have triumphs to look back on, and setbacks, and hopefully there’ll be more of the former than the latter. She’ll be ten feet tall by then and will have even more smelly boys lurking around, unaware of the mortal danger they’ll be in. (I may be old, but I’m driven by overprotective dad power with a boost of curmudgeon for good measure. You’ve been warned, punks.)

But most of all, she’ll still have her monster. She’ll still wrangle with it, negotiate with it, figure it out. She’ll get knocked down by her monster from time to time, but Chumbawamba-like, she’ll get back up again.

And she’ll still have me. She’ll always have me, until I run out of years myself. Like all of our kids, Schuyler will walk into an uncertain future but she won’t be alone. Never alone.

Happy new year, everyone. Bring it on.

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