Unfortunately, loving these campers also meant putting my heart on the line to be hurt. In the last 8 years I have said good-bye to 4 of my campers. Each time my heart has broken but I have rested peacefully knowing how loved each of them were, before and after death.
This morning is different. 7 years ago I started teaching at a school in my hometown. My job was to develop an Autism classroom, primarily put into place because of 2 little boys. Twins. Wild. Both with Autism, both nonverbal, both hyperactive, both "unloveable". That is what I remember most about beginning my career with N & J. These were not children preceded with, "Oh! You are going to love them. They are so sweet, they are so funny." These were students that I was told, "Get ready! Are you sure you're up for this? Do your doors lock? They bite- they scratch- they spit. Good luck getting help from home". So I prepared. I had alarms put on the doors and arranged furniture to make it harder to escape. I removed staplers and picture frames and anything breakable from reach. I researched and planned.
What I did not prepare for was how much these 2 little boys would change my heart. How much better I would become because of them. It wasn't a job for the faint of heart. I was bitten, I was scratched, I had countless breakouts of ringworm. I went home exhausted, without lunch, every day. I wore no jewelry and most days put my hair in a ponytail so it couldn't be yanked on. I rearranged my class 15 times. I called on our OT and SLP's constantly for assistance and suggestions. And I LOVED. Almost immediately I fell in love with the mischievous grins on these 2 little faces. I learned to dance to the music J hummed and rhythms N drummed. I learned to advocate for them- to fight for their opportunity to eat lunch in the lunchroom, go to PE with other classes, attend music and assemblies. I wanted, so badly, for my boys to experience the sense of community I knew they deserved. To walk down the hall and have other teachers and students tell them "Hello!", for people to realize when they were absent. And it did happen. Students began to ask questions and teachers began to invite us to their classrooms for fun activities. 3rd graders began asking their teachers if they could come read to my students. And I saw these two, unlovable boys become loved.
After 3 years it was time for me to move on and I agonized over the decision to leave N & J. I had three other students I loved as well but they would be fine. They had support systems. Their families had support systems. But what about N & J? Would another teacher love them the same? Would another teacher be able to build a rapport with their mom? Would she worry over them in the summer and make sure they had groceries or bed sheets...
In the 3 1/2 years since I left them I have had a few opportunities to visit. I have had the chance to speak with their teachers and therapists and keep up with their progress. And I have talked about them constantly. I tell stories of the funny, sad, frustrating, and gross things they would do. When I close my eyes I see N looking at me with his head cocked, one eye open, one eye closed and his finger on the side of his nose. I see J rocking back and forth quietly humming whatever song we sang in Morning Meeting. I hear their giggles and see their smiles. I can still feel the death grip of their precious hugs.
This morning I woke up to learn that my boys are no longer with us on Earth. My heart is in so many pieces and I'm not sure I will ever run out of tears. But my initial despair was over the fact that no one would mourn them. No one, but me, would truly miss them- or have learned from them and been blessed by their short lives. And then my phone started ringing and text messages began coming in. Teachers I worked with checking on me, crying with me, and mourning the loss of two precious boys that MADE A DIFFERENCE! N & J had lives that mattered. They taught the teachers and students around them about acceptance. They taught us that everyone is lovable. My heart is so comforted in knowing that these boys will be mourned and missed. And remembered.
When I read paperwork for new students and feel the undercurrent of what the former service providers are really saying, "this student is unlovable", I make sure to open my heart extra wide for them. When a student comes into my classroom, no matter how difficult, I look for something in their personality that is lovable.
