going public

 Let me tell you that coming to terms with the idea of a special school has not been easy.  We toured three when he was in 3rd grade, just so we could see what we might be facing.  They were as bad as I'd feared.  No homecoming dances, no marching band, not lots of girls (or boys) to choose from to date.  I was so sad.  No one wants this for their child.  There is a mourning process that happens.  I know many of you know what I'm talking about - when your child's life isn't going in the direction you'd imagined, that they're not the perfect healthy child you always pictured having.  But H has sunk so low that we are now (all of us) truly looking forward to his attending one of these schools.  I can't wait.  While I once did mental gymnastics to try to think a way out of H needing this, I now look forward to.  It still breaks my heart that my child needs this but the idea of him going to an atypical school isn't nearly as painful.  We will drive 100 miles a day transporting him there (if we win, the district will have to bus him).   Because of differences in school breaks, we will have SIX weeks of the year that used to be a break for all 3 but are now only a break for one school or the other (imagine having a summer break that is only half as long - that's what this amounts to, except for that it is spread out across the year between summer and spring breaks).  I think I may be focusing on this piddly detail a bit just to avoid thinking about the big details.  But it really bums me out.  It seems like exhibit A for how our life is going to change.  Yet this is still so much of a better alternative than what we have happening now.

I created this page about a month ago, I think, but I have been reluctant to share it because it is so personal. I feel like this is H's story to tell. The travesty of that is that I shouldn't feel this way. If he had one of many other types of disabilities, it wouldn't be so hush-hush.  People say that mental illness is not a "casserole illness." It certainly is not a casserole illness. If you have surgery, have a baby, have some struggling with Alzheimer's, almost any other disability, people bring casseroles. They set up meal-providing calendars. Those with mental illness do not get casseroles.  We get isolation.  . First of all, we usually don't even let on that there is an illness. Secondly, if we do, people's responses are far from casserole-bringing. It's usually awkward silence, slowly drawing away from the friendship, providing unhelpful or downright damaging advice.