After leaving my 10 year old’s IEP re-evaluation where he was afforded 30 minutes of weekly Occupational Therapy after 8 years of slow going Speech services, I drowned myself in a terrific, relief-induced sob fest alone in our family sized Ford Expedition as I drove through town. At a particularly long red light, that included a particularly dramatic sob, the lone driver of a tiny red sports car to my left began eyeing me and motioned to roll down the window. I muted 94.3 THE DUDE which was playing at the highest volume and hit the auto down button on the driver door.
“You ‘k? Everything good?” she began hesitantly. Her eyebrows knitted, head tilting slightly as her body leaned towards the open passenger side window. Kind eyes inspected my face. Short pause. Then both of her arms raised to encircle empty air in front of her. “You look like you need a hug, friend.” I dried my face, sniffed, and debated what to say to this stranger at the red light.
“I’m…..I….Just left my son’s IEP meeting at school…and…” I started. A tiny sob escaped. I turned my head, staring at the red light, then looked back. She was young and could have easily passed for A’ja Wilson’s twin. Her face blanked at my parenting lingo and she blinked, head tilting again. “And….and I just needed a good cry before picking up my 3 year old,” I finished. We stared at each other a moment.
“Everything gonna be ok, honey. Life’ll work itself out. Always does,” she offered, face full of compassion. If we weren’t both locked in seatbelts about to cross a busy road at lunch hour I have no doubt she would have given me that hug she saw me needing.
“Thank you. Very… much.” I breathed in deeply, and exhaled slowly. “Just….thank you,” I said.
Her eyebrows remained knitted as she inspected my face in silence, perhaps nervous I shouldn’t actually be driving. The light changed to green, we both glanced forward, then back at each other.
“Hey……Love ya, friend. You’ll be ‘k.” She struck her chest with her fist then held out a peace sign towards me. So I did the same.
“Love you, friend. Thank you again. So much.”
We smiled, nodded in solidarity, then drove off.
She back to her world. And I, mine.

crying education IEP