On Monday, Simon’s high school had an active shooter drill.
On Tuesday, I got a message that Simon didn’t do well during the drill.
On Wednesday morning, I spoke at length with his school case manager who detailed the problems and changes they’d already started to implement.
On Wednesday afternoon, seventeen students were shot to death at a high school in Florida.
Simon didn’t like the active shooter lockdown drill. He does fine with the tornado drills, but the active shooter one…he couldn’t do it.
He stayed in his seat. He stayed in his seat because it was time for PE, not time to go sit quietly in the corner of a darkened room. He stayed in his seat because he wanted to run around and play basketball in the gym. He stayed in his seat.
He screamed. Loudly. So loudly that one of the vice principals came into the classroom to try to calm him down, but it was too late. He screamed.
He cried. Tears went down his face. He cried.
He stayed in his chair. He could not be quiet.
My mind skipped back to the most depressing show that I had ever seen – the M*A*S*H final episode, “Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen.”
In that finale, Hawkeye has broken down completely and is working with a psychiatrist. He recalls a time on a bus when there were soldiers outside, checking to see if there was anyone on the bus, anyone for them to kill. A woman had a chicken on her lap, and it kept clucking. But then it stopped.
I found the dialogue for the scene:
Hawkeye: “There’s something wrong with it. It stopped making noise. It just–just stopped. Sh–She killed it! She killed it!”
Sidney: “She killed the chicken?”
Hawkeye: “Oh my God! Oh my God! I didn’t mean for her to kill it. I did not! I–I just wanted it to be quiet! It was–It was a baby! She–She smothered her own baby!”
My mind jumps back to thoughts of Simon at high school, Simon not being able to be quiet when someone wants to kill people.
Simon’s high school is working with him for the next time there is an active shooter drill. They are changing the appearance of his schedule to make it easier for him to deal with changes. They are making sure that there is some sort of computer that he can take into a corner with a set of headphones so that he can be distracted and still stay hidden. All of that is awesome.
What if it doesn’t work?
What is he stays in his seat?
What if he screams?
What if it’s not a drill?
My imagination runs wild with thoughts I don’t want to have.
Tomorrow is Monday.
Simon goes back to high school.
I don’t believe I have to write about this.
Another person (this time an award-winning autism blogger) questioned “how much a parent who has ‘reached the point of desperation’ can be blamed.”
I don’t want to be picky about this, but I’m going to have to be.
If you’ve reached your breaking point, get help. If you have to abandon your child to the state and face charges for it, then take that option.
Murder is not an option.
I don’t care that the blogger said that “you have to wonder what happens that an otherwise loving mother can feel like this is the only option or that this is the best option.”
No, you don’t have to wonder. You know – she’s feeling beyond overwhelmed, and she probably has some sort of mental breakdown. I get that. It happens. But even then, it’s murder. And in this case, the murder seems to have been at least partially planned. The mother, on YouTube, said that she was thinking of “pulling a Thelma and Louise” before she tossed her kid off the bridge.
It also doesn’t help when “experts” like Dee Shepherd-Look (a psych professor at California State University) make statements like, “quite frankly, I am surprised this doesn’t happen more often…these children are really unable to be in a reciprocal relationship and the moms don’t really experience the love that comes back from a child.”
What. The. Fuck.
Now, I know that I may be in the lucky group. Simon loves hugs, he loves attention, he interacts (albeit in very limited ways). But even when that interaction and communication was more limited than it is now, I would never consider murder as an option.
Do we also consider murder as an option when someone is deaf? Blind? In any other way impaired? I mean, what is the deciding line for it, in the opinion of this “expert”? Who gets a free pass to kill a child? Because if it’s just when you hit a certain level of frustration, I think every child would probably be dead before the end of their teens.
Murder is not an option.
Autism is not – and should not – be a death sentence.
Oh, and go sign this petition!
Once upon a time (about a week ago now), a “pissed off mother” wrote a letter that went Internet-crazy.
Obviously, this letter was just a wee bit upsetting to all of those who have children with autism or other developmental disabilities. It took me a while to form a response, but now that I’ve calmed down, I wanted to respond. It *needs* a response.
First, I can’t blame this mother for sending it anonymously. If I had written something with punctuation that was that bad, I wouldn’t want anyone to know I had written it either. (Joking. Humor helps, right?)
But to get to the serious part, I feel sorry for the mother who wrote this letter. Genuinely sorry. Sorry for her and the life she leads. The life she’s going to lead.
She needs to think about the lesson she’s teaching her children. She needs to remember that her children will be the ones picking her nursing home. And that’s not a joke. I’m not being facetious. The letter she wrote shows a distinct lack of caring for those who aren’t “normal” or behave oddly. According to one Alzheimer’s website, the risk of someone developing a form of dementia is one in 14. If she is that one in 14, her children will fear her and revile her, just the way she has taught them to. She shouldn’t be surprised if she finds herself in an inexpensive nursing home with no visitors and no one coming to her grave after she dies alone.
We reap what we sow. She has made it clear that those who are imperfect are not worthy of love or even simple human dignity. She will have that experience herself one day, and perhaps by then it will be far too late for her to change her mind or teach her children differently.
That’s why I feel sorry for her and the life she leads. I also feel sorry for her children. Perhaps none of them will ever learn to appreciate the simple things in life or even life itself. She won’t read this. And she wouldn’t care or understand even if she did. And for that, there is no cure. She will suffer forever.
My son may scare her, but he has empathy. He would feel bad about scaring her. She, on the other hand, scares me. She doesn’t feel bad about scaring people. And she doesn’t know why that’s wrong.
Autism can be coped with. What’s wrong with her, however, can’t be. She may be able to pretend she’s normal sometimes, but her letter makes it clear that she does not possess human emotions. And for that, I feel sorry for her. I have to hope that other parents of autistic children can find it in their hearts to feel sorry for her, too. Because while her letter might shock us and hurt us, we have the strength to move past it. And she never will.