We’d driven only for about two minutes on the way to her new school’s orientation, AC blasting on the 87° afternoon, her having just learned thirty minutes before what we were going to do because she cannot handle anticipation, me, nervous, as always, about potential behaviors. “Mom. Mom. What is 'Breaking My Heart?'" “It's just a song, kiddo, on the radio.” “What does it mean?” “It means…. well, it means something is making him sad about something. Like, someone is doing something that makes him sad.” “Mom. Mom. What is making him sad? Like someone screamed at him? Or like someone stepped on the cat’s tail? Mom.” I was able to answer this sort of, in maybe a satisfying enough manner, I think anyway, without explaining romantic love and eventual heartbreak, which are, with any luck, a decade over her head. And then I watched her anxiety ramp in my car on the way to her new school's orientation. To an unknowing observer, this might not have been possible to interpret, but to someone who has spent 4.5 years trying to perfect the mental gymnastics involved in her not escalating further and possibly de-escalating slightly, it was fairly conspicuous ….. She yelled for a few minutes about jail and police officers, who she is both fascinated by and frightened of. She got very agitated about “the blue room", which is a kinder name for the seclusion room at her first public school. She loudly and angrily asked me about whether her old teachers were at her old school RIGHT NOW and were they in their same rooms?!? It’s only a 15 minute ride there in a car, but she still went through all of this material. We got there. We exited my car. She silenced. We met her new teacher. We met an ed tech who will help her and other kids in her room of only six. We met two kids in the room. We looked around her new space, six name tags, six desks in small groups, books, playdough, iPads. We stood in a line outside to get salty chips and lemonade from a giant Gatorade thermos. She played on the playground, flipped over bars, got red faced and sweaty, spoke to no kids, despite there being easily 50 on that playground. We left. It took five minutes before she became crazed in my highlander, pupils dilated, body tense, all that emotion brimming. It took four minutes of being home before she began breathing rapidly and maniacally demanded to one of Conor’s friends to “chuck the dog in the street!” Extreme anxiety transferred into meanness and cruelty. Powerlessness finding a way to exert power. Mental illness - wide eyed, eager, uncontrollable. Mental illness - a thief of what might have been. What is breaking my heart? I watched a three year old stand in the hotdog line appropriately without touching other people's purses, without depressing buttons on the fold up tables, without moving the extra cups, without pulling on the disposable tablecloths, and I was unnervingly envious. That is breaking my heart. M and I have run into several people this summer from her first public school who have kindly asked who her next teacher is. We told them she had to leave that school. That is breaking my heart. Looking at her tiny classroom of six kids and knowing she is going to be surrounded by the same level of defiance and potential aggression she exhibits hourly, and being both sad and relieved at this simultaneously. That is breaking my heart. The seclusion room’s proximity to her new classroom. This one, too, bringing both relief and sadness. That is breaking my heart. Watching kids on her new playground greet each other and understand how to play together.... Observing a couple of kids sit off to the side and not speak to anyone but their parents....
The fact that after we got back home, she became maniacal again with Con’s friends, and yelled about hurting an animal.... My own reaction to this …. Heart rate way too high, hands shaking, failing in not yelling at her …. again.... Putting her to bed at 6:30 p.m. because I just couldn't do it anymore.... Her yelling through the door that she was never going to school ever again. EVER, EVER, EVER! .... Knowledge that that cruelty toward a 20 pound puppy has nothing to do with the actual puppy and everything to do with an utter lack of control, of understanding, of power.... Knowledge that our foster care system is so incredibly hard on these kids.... Knowledge that she is one of many kids struggling with early trauma, and it's hard to feel as if we are all doing enough.... These are the things that are breaking my heart tonight.