Bittersweet Transitions

Well, another year is wrapping up today with the closing festivities which end the school year and signal the commencement of summer.

I, like all other parents of their children, am proud of the girls and the great years they have had AND am so thankful that they loved their teachers and school experiences so much that they really weren’t counting down the days until summer.  And I’m proud of Jack, who somehow managed to make it on “blue” (the mark of great behavior in Preshool) despite his “Livin’ Large” philosophy at home. 

This year marks a transition year for Camille, which is a term that means something to everyone who has kids going off to middle school, but a year that carries a lot more verb-age, planning, and pause for reflection for parents who have children with visual impairments. 

I think about where she was when she started Preschool 8 years ago at Reeder, and I see her now, and my heart stands in awe at her transformation. 

My head is flooded with images of blessings, mostly in the form of people who have invested themselves in her and allowed her to grow and THRIVE.  The road has certainly not been always easy; there were times, especially early on, when Bill and I succumbed to tears at night at the stinging words of the naysayers or the seeming impossibilities of navigating the unknowns and the obstacles.  Not so anymore.  She is carving out her niche, and we have had many, many gracious, amazing people who were instrumental in her successes in the academic world.  This makes saying goodbye to Reeder Elementary so very bittersweet. 

There really hasn’t been a time when Camille hasn’t had a teacher in her life.  Since the age of four months, she has had a highly educated Teacher of the Visually Impaired in her life, simply because it is recognized that kids with sensory impairments learn differently as youngsters (and sometimes, as parents, we are pretty dense).  We’ve had a Jayme, a Beth, and a Carrie who were teachers and strongholds for us from the get-go, encouraging us to carry on when the world would say differently—and they were the ones with the expertise to see long term.  We’ve had and still have a Mrs. LeAnna, who teaches cane travel, imparts wisdom about adaptive technology, and stood at the window with me watching Camille try to climb backwards up a slide, refusing help, and refusing to give up (all the while reminding me that her tenacity would someday serve her well).

But I also need to give credit to the people who are not specialists in vision who have been equal champions and life-changers for Camille.  Sandy & Jessy lifted her up in Preschool, Maria the Magnificent transformed from preschool para to captain of the Reeder Ship & KSF (kindred soul forever), Terri and Keri had my number at the “Come Put the Eye Back In” hotline and never blinked an eye when they had to call, Mrs. Dahlhauser never held my crazy against me as I cried like a baby on Camille’s last day of school with her, Dan the custodian—supporter extraordinare and prosthetic eye buddy, Mrs. Standish, Mr. Heiss who somehow made her a P.E. lover, Mrs. Wolfe, and many others.  We also hit the jackpot in Mrs. Roberts.--how do you thank a principal who is a big-picture thinker who single-handedly changed the course of your child’s education?  You can’t.  Not enough. 

Which brings me to this last year—Mrs. Roberts’ parting gift for our Camille and our family: giving us the teacher combo of the century.  The amazing Mrs. Cindy Barr-McNair (Camille’s itinerant vision teacher for the past 3 years) and Mrs. Ann Burmeister (Camille’s 5^th grade teacher), have inspired, taught, and invested their hearts out to put a big whopping exclamation point on elementary school.  This has been a year filled with critical thinking, independence, adaptive technology, exploration, problem-solving, self-advocacy, leadership, and a continued love of learning---a year that is certainly hard to end.  As Camille best put it this morning, “I don’t know how to feel.  I am happy for summer, kind of excited about middle school, but so sad to say goodbye to Mrs. Burmeister and so many people at Reeder.”  Camille is typically a pretty straight-forward gal, not particularly dramatic, rarely sheds tears.  Yet, I could not get the girl to leave the school today, and it brought tears to my eyes when we finally got out the front door, and she just stopped, turned around, and scanned the front of the school, taking it all in.  I’m so proud of her maturity as she processed this pivotal moment.  Quiet tears streamed down her face in the car on the way home.  She was heartbroken to be leaving because she realized the gifts she had received.  Nearest to her heart was knowing that she was done in her 5^th grade classroom, which I assure you, was an phenomenal place.  “Mom, I just had this feeling come over me, and I tried to hold the tears in…I really did.  I just can’t.“ 

It’s okay to cry, Camille; it means you’ve been deeply touched by amazing people.

            The following link is to an iMovie that Camille made under the guidance of her incredible Mrs. McNair to send ahead of her to her teachers at Beadle Middle School.  For my vision friends…how lucky are we?  The making of this video encompasses so many facets of the Expanded Core Curriculum, was a phenomenal experience for Camille to speak for herself while learning about technology, and will make her less ‘scary’ on paper.  After all, if we are being real, on paper a “legally blind child with an orthopedic impairment” looks a lot scarier than the spunky, bright soul that is our Camille.

  

Click here for Camille's Transition Video