moving on

Micah opens the passenger door to our light gray Bronco looking like he’s lost his only friend; his eyes are moist, his cheeks streaked with tears. It’s 12:30pm on the last day of high school. I had sensed melancholy in his voice over the phone. “Mom, they said I can go home early. You can come get me.” My heart aches for him, and I fight back the lump in my throat.

No more classes. No more talking and laughing with his friends in the resource room. No more sitting next to his theater pals at lunch time. No more play performances. This chapter of his life is over—whether he wants it to be or not.  

“Micah–I know you’re sad, honey, but trust me, everything will be alright. You’re going to have a great year ahead of you.”

“Yeah, mom,” his shiny blue eyes search mine, “but will I still get to see my friends?”

“Yes, Micah,” I assure him feeling like a liar. I know I can’t promise anything. “But maybe not as much. You and your friends will be moving on. Some will be going to college, others to various jobs, and you have your own plans with the transition program.”

“But Mom—I don’t know about the transition program. Will I like it?” It’s not the first time he’s expressed doubt about this next step. “What about college?”

I’d mentioned taking classes to Micah several times, and I’d planned to investigate this path at some point, but truth be told, I wasn’t certain Micah was ready. Would there be modifications? Would he need someone to assist him? College didn’t come with paraprofessionals.

The transition program through the school system was a good place to start—it would allow Micah a little extra time to mature, to learn and hone the skills he would need in his everyday life. He would also have opportunities to work at different jobs in the community with the help of a job coach, experiences that would make clear to him what he liked to do and what he wasn’t too excited about.  

It’s been two months since Micah closed the door on his senior year, two months since we celebrated him at his graduation party. One paraprofessional who drove out to wish Micah well, provided me with wonderful words of encouragement. I had been mingling with all the guests, talking with friends, neighbors, and various staff and students from Micah’s school. She waited patiently as I was finishing a conversation with Rose, Micah’s wonderful nurse from elementary school who’d long since retired. We were standing in front of the long table that displayed pictures of Micah, various awards, and mementos of his many theater performances.

“I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed working with Micah this year. He has come so far and has been such a joy to work with. One of the classes I’ve helped him with this year is physical science. He rocked that class, didn’t really need my help.” She’d gone on to tell me how amazed she was at how he’d grasped the concepts of chemistry. I’d seen Micah’s report cards this year; it was clear that he’d grown substantially in what he was able to understand. He had received Bs both semesters–without modifications. But the fact that this para came to the party, that she patiently waited and sought me out to encourage me, that she wanted me to know the specifics of what Micah could be capable of—this gave me a great sense of hope. There were others, of course, who had words of affirmation for Micah, who expressed similar sentiments the night of the party and in what they wrote in cards. I appreciated these words more than they knew.

It’s been a good summer. Theater camp and a second-year stint at a part-time job have helped ease Micah’s sadness at having left his school years behind. On long rides to the lake, we discuss the future—about possibilities and exploring interests. I sense in Micah more peace, maybe even a bit of excitement in going forward.  

Despite this, I worry about Micah finding a sense of belonging which is vital to anyone’s life. It’s not so much finding the perfect job but helping him find community. It is the quest of so many of us who have kids with special needs—to find those groups, activities, and organizations that can provide this piece for our loved one so that they feel seen, connected, and fulfilled.

I dreaded this post high school process of moving on for such a long time. But now, as we enter this new chapter, I find myself in a much different mindset. Time has been a friend; slowly my anxious thoughts have dissipated. Things change, Micah has grown, and I have continued to learn so much on this journey.

It seems we are finally ready to move forward and joyfully embrace the future.