May 15, 2009

Donna Has Passed

Death is the ultimate measurement of what we do. Americans often find it difficult to talk about death. What is it not to be? As the final test is administered in the class called Life, everyone looks back at what was and will be no more. Am I proud of what I did? Was I a good mother, a good wife? A good father and husband? Did I do the best I could with what I had? Was I generous? Was I a good friend? Was I a loving and compassionate person? We never, never talk about the amount of money we made, the clothes we wore, or the cars we drove. As we approach this final test, the measurement is what we gave and not what we received. That is the ultimate lesson we must pass on to our children. The environment in and out of school from the moment of a child’s first breath sets the stage for this final test. Genetics, circumstance, chance all play a part in Life’s lottery. But in the end, we pass or fail Life’s test alone, hoping to enter another Place in our new form. My dear Donna got an A. She passed the test with flying colors.

I first met her in the mid-80s. She had a dyslexic son who needed a program that met his needs. Her husband was a tall, charming and magnetic guy who always did the talking. We all worked and put a case together, did a trial, and become fast friends. When it was over, Donna wanted to pay back and learn to help others. Her skills were in organizing because she was not comfortable with talking. She was the most amazing and natural administrator I’ve ever met. It was Donna who succeeded in turning our house into an organization. She established the telephone protocols, the filing system, a scheduling planner for all of the people stuffed into the corners of the house. She took messages, screened them for me, and gradually began to play a bigger role in who did what, when, and where. She did this quietly, with her shy smile, a chuckle here and there, and a pocketful of chocolate for my son- who was about 6 when Donna started to work with me. She drove an hour each way. On one such trip she arrived with the first of many six foot filing cabinets. I was instructed to close my eyes and promise not to peek because she had a surprise. Once it was inside and in place, she promptly filled it, alphabetically, with 5 feet piles of records stacked around the walls. She functioned like a surgeon with a precise, impeccable sense of how things should be run. And, though very politely, she began to interrupt her husband sometimes!

My secret goal was to get her to talk in public. One day I was supposed to do an in-service for high school teachers in a nearby school district. I asked if Donna would drive me and help with handouts. Once we were there, I asked her to introduce me. By the time the class was over, she had told her story about the trial as an example of the work we did at the Parent Information Center. Afterward, she said she thought she was going to faint, that her throat was dry, and that I wasn’t to do that again. But, she said, she thought she did a good job. Good? She was marvelous! Maybe the Arkansas trip was the most fun. I was the keynote speaker for Arkansas’s LDA convention in Little Rock. Donna and her husband went with the PIC folks who presented over a two day period. She designed the cover for one of the handouts and worked as a member of the presenting team. When I acknowledged her, she put her hand over her face and everybody clapped. She was a classy, smart, insightful lady with an infallible instinct about who the good guys and bad guys were. There was never a time that Donna refused to help anyone. The one she helped the most, outside of her family, was me.

There is so much to say about this precious friend. But she wouldn’t like me to say it. She would, however, be OK with her death providing a way to discuss improving life. Why is this relevant to a blog about children and families with special needs? Because her death was about choices. It was about tolerance for opinions dramatically different from her own. It was about never giving up on getting children what they needed, no matter how difficult it was. It was about picking yourself up when you fail at something and trying again. It was about taking risks for the greater good. Donna was loyal. Along the way, so many people disappeared when the work became too controversial, too difficult, too scary. She never blinked. She was always there as back up and, when necessary, in the front line. These are qualities and traits she gave her children. These attributes are the bedrock of becoming a whole, functioning adult in the face of adversity and hard times. It’s what we’re after in an IEP meeting. It’s why I did thousands of trials. There is a beginning and an end to everything. When the beginning starts with a problem, the hope is that somebody knows and cares enough to help. Each day gives us a chance to try again. But if we wait and only think about what we might do, what could be done, we fail the test. Donna was about initiative and forbearance, about getting the job done so that everything was in place for those who came after her. She would never have to say in the end…woulda, shoulda, coulda. She would and she did.

In school we either pass or get left back. Children pass when they get grades showing at least minimum proficiency. In special education, passing means that there is an objective measurement for each goal and objective and that the child achieved them. Success is measured by some quantifiable standard as a clock ticks away our mortality. The legal standard for an appropriate education is achieving self-sufficiency and independence. God has left me back. I’m not ready to pass the final test and still attached to earth. Donna fulfilled her IEP, passed the proficiency test, and was ready to graduate. Congratulations, my darling friend, on a life well lived. Yes. Donna has passed.