“Is everybody ready?” I gave James and Ian a smile, but they didn’t answer. It was OK; I didn’t expect one. Although James had just turned 5, and Ian was only 3, both were still preverbal.
Concerned about the failure of our boys to develop speech, after a series of fits and starts, we attended a meeting following an evaluation conducted by Children’s Mercy Hospital where we received a diagnosis: autism spectrum disorder. Severely impaired. With no cure, we were advised to give them immediate and intensive special education.
Following a conclusive meeting with the school district, we went back-to-school shopping in February. The normal school sales had ended almost six months earlier, but we had our Captains of Chaos ready for their academic career. Not about to let them leave unprepared, we’d put their coats and backpacks in a convenient place, then waited for the short bus that would take them a quantum leap out of our lives.
Sandi sensed my mood. “Do you want to take them to the bus? Shall we both walk them out? Or would you rather I do it?”
“I’m not sure I could handle it, not this first time. Even with you beside me, I don’t think I’d be able to keep from crying.”
She rubbed my back in a circular motion and smiled. “You big softie. Don’t worry, I’ll do it.” Sandi joined the boys where they sat, intent on a cartoon DVD and oblivious to our interchange.
I resumed my vigil by the picture window but didn’t have to wait long. “BUS!”
Winter coats were slid on and zipped, backpacks were put on, and all in a mad scramble. Sandi took a hand of each and led them to the bus, backpacks hanging down to their knees.
I wiped my eyes.