It is my day to pick up Jude and take him to Special rec. Special Rec is a park district program for the developmentally disabled. Jude gets to go bowling, swimming, play tennis and apparently they are doing a production of Grease this year. Hmm.
I stand outside the school and wait, watching the cute little kids with their backpacks file out and climb onto the busses. Suddenly there is a ruckus at the door and here comes Jude, barreling down the sidewalk, aid in tow. It is like watching someone trying to control a Great Dane.
His teacher tells me today was okay, there was only one outburst, and that it wasn't so bad that they needed to call me. I spend most days praying not to hear the theme to the Exorcist, which is the school's ringtone. No news is good news as far as the school and I are concerned. I feel so helpless when they call and say he is tossing chairs and books around and screaming. No one knows why he does it, maybe not even Jude.
"I hate it when Jude Hill throws things," he tells me in the car. I reach behind me and hold his hand, because clearly he feels helpless, too. Hurricanes blow in, and then they leave again, and things get broken and lost. All you can do is hunker down and pray.
It is a blustery fall day, and we drive down side streets to the park. Leaves are falling all around, and they crunch as we walk towers the park. Jude stops and watches a squirrel, who climbs up on a tree and looks at us expectantly. "Hi squirrel," Jude says. "Jude Hill is walking in some leaves." The squirrel is unimpressed, and we continue on our way. I consider just spending the afternoon with Jude on the playground, but for the sake of consistency I decide we need to stick with the plan. Jude reminds me he wants to be a butterfly for Halloween. "Caterpillars turn into butterflies!" he yells, running into the park house.
Jude leads the way, down the stairs into the basement room where adults and kids are painting posters for the Grease production. I am not sure if Jude will be okay with me leaving or not. I sign his name and when I look up, he and Amy, the nice instructor are painting. She waves and I head out the door.
I should be happy, I have two whole hours to write and drink coffee, but I look back several times and listen for yelling. I get in the car and pull away. At the stoplight down the street a short school bus pulls up next to me, and a round face with glasses smiles down at me and a chubby hand waves. I wave back and burst into tears. Jude is not the only one with mysterious feelings that seemingly blow in from freaking nowhere.
It isn't as if I have never left my boys before. Preschool, dates, camp, rare weekends away with my husband have all stirred up anxious tears. When I get to the coffee place I grab a house blend and sit in the back. What the hell is wrong with me?
I am jealous of Amy, and everyone else who gets to spend the whole day with Jude. I used to be the only one who understood him and his needs, and now he has experiences that do not include me. Jude, like Sage and Eden, is growing apart from me, as he should. I just am not used to letting go of the one who clings to me so tightly. I thought I had more time. How is that for selfish? I was mostly okay with my son being a mystery, a beautiful enigma that unravels itself at its own pace. Happy to sit and watch while it all unfolds. Maybe I just want to share this afternoon with someone who sees the excruciating wonder of a yellow leaf falling from the sky. No one else I know does a happy dance over leaves in the wind or greets dumpsters with a happy shout.
At a Bible study last week my friend was talking about trees. When they look all bare, when all the leaves have fallen off and there they are, all stark and naked, that there is really so much life underneath, mysteries going on just beneath the surface, getting ready for spring and brand new life. It is hard to picture on this dark windy day, but I will have a little faith, I guess, that good things are happening even when I can't quite see it. Jude is growing and learning and enjoying all sorts of new things even if I am not standing right there. He won't be able to tell me about his afternoon with Amy, but I guess that is okay. Oh well. I love a good mystery. I really do.
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