Recently, on a weekday morning, I sat at my desk, grading a never-ending pile of final essays. The smell of sawdust from maple planks wafted up from the basement in tandem with the sound of a CNC router, whirring in action. I heard bits and pieces of Jim’s running commentary of choices made and choices undone. By 3:15 that afternoon, Marty the Bus Driver deposited Rachel home in the lower driveway. Jim hoisted her onto the chair lift, which zooms her up to the main level, where we do most of our living.
Things have changed here at the BOH, and it’s high time you found out how. Please be warned that this update is long and may contain language that’s not fit for mature audiences. So, you might not want to read this aloud to your kid or your prudish, but lovable Church Lady.
With that, I present to you the update, in five acts.
Act I – A jolt
“Sometimes accidents happen in life from which we have need of a little madness to extricate ourselves successfully.” Francois de La Rochefoucauld
On the last day of August, I was at our local grocery store, Lunds&Byerlys, picking up a few items. The store is located on a busy street, so to turn left out of the parking lot is a general pain. To avoid that, I leave the lot in the south 40 and turn left to take advantage of the traffic light.
While sitting there facing north, minding my own business, a white truck coming from the west, turned to head south. Except, his turn was so wide, he rammed right into the passenger side of my beloved Odyssey. The airbags deployed, bruising my left arm.
(This van is the physical manifestation of Bus of Hope: it has taken Rachel and me from home to therapy and back. This van has safely carried us on at least two trips to Chicago. I didn’t WANT this van initially, but I sure grew to love it.)
The young man who hit me got out of the car, staring at my blankly and remained eerily silent.
“Uh, hi?” I offered a way for him to say something, and nothing came. “Dude, you just hit me. Aren’t you going to say something?”
He said nothing. He just blinked and stared at me.
Finally, he offered to get his insurance cards. While he did that, I noticed a woman on the sidewalk is watching this scene unfold, beckoning me to come over.
We chat. I’m fucking angry that this man doesn’t say much. And I’m stunned and shocked that it could have been worse.
The manager of the grocery store came out to check on me, offering comfort. Frank is his name, and he came to tell me someone called the police. The woman on the sidewalk, whose name I have forgotten, stood by my side as I answered Frank’s questions and tried not to lose my shit.
The ambulance came, and I was examined by a lovely, 35 y/o lady named Callie. She walked me through the stages of an accident, which sounded like the levels of grief. She wrapped a blood pressure gauge on my arm and kept chatting me up. Cops came and went. Someone handed me my purse, my CGM, and the mask I was wearing. Frank from Lunds took all three bags of groceries and kept them in the walk-in store fridge until I was ready to retrieve them.
At one point, the guy who hit me was in handcuffs. By the time Officer Mike took me to his squad car, the handcuffs were off as medics gently asked questions. I thought he was drunk or high. How else to explain the blank stare and non-verbal response?
I have replayed this accident in my head several times: had I done any other move besides just sit there at that stoplight, I might not be typing this update.
I found out later that the young man experienced a seizure while driving.
A portly fella by the name of Officer Mike drove me home, with my groceries that L&B Frank held for me in the back seat. I walked into the house, right into the loving arms of my husband. I had a good, rocking cry with Jim’s arms wrapped around my shaking shoulders. Callie, the EMT, warned me that would happen. I couldn’t cry long; it scared Rachel too much. So did the big bruise on my arm.
I got some water, sat on the couch, and joined what I call “the circle.” Jim in his easy chair, Rachel in her wheelchair, and my spot on the grey couch.
A moment of calm and quiet fell onto us like an autumn rain. We looked at each other, exchanged looks as if to say, Now what?
Rachel offered a single word to summarize and offer full context of both her parents’ thought process: “Fuck.” Her intonation seemed to say, Well this sucks, doesn’t it?
Sure, she’s concerned about the big bruise on my arm, and yeah, that’s the car that she has spent a great deal of time in for almost the last ten years. But I give the girl props for using that word most appropriately, even if I don’t want her to make it some kind of habit.
Within the hour of my accident with the 2008 Odyssey, Jim called his work to say he needed to stay home to go car shopping. My mother agreed to take Rachel so we could head to Richfield-Bloomington Honda. Thanks to the pandemic, customers must make an appointment to purchase a vehicle. Jim set ours for 10 a.m.
The next day, we arrived at Grandma Kathy’s by 9:30, checked Rachel’s brief, made small talk, and headed out to make the short journey to RBH. Our appointment was with an individual by the name of Brian Kelly.
Fully masked, Jim and I swung in the front door. A man stood about 20 feet away from us in a pink linen blazer, bedazzling bowtie, and white dress shirt with black polka dots. “You must be Jim Reid,” he said.
“Yes indeed. Are you Brian Kelly?”
“Yes. Good to meet you.” He turned to me with arched eyebrows and raised cheekbones. The mask couldn’t blot out the smile entirely.
“My name is Melissa.” I offered my elbow in a fast greet and meet. The handshake was and still is off-limits.
Once we finished our kind pleasantries, we got to work in finding a replacement – a Bus of Hope 2.0. Brian listened to our needs, concerns, and wishes. Our predicament? We didn’t want a van that was too old with too many miles, and we hoped to avoid a brand, new model. We still wanted an Odyssey, since it fit our requirements for Rachel and her equipment.
The model of car we wanted was in short supply, thus making our choices few. So, we – Jim, really – test drove a 2018 Honda Odyssey. It’s black with leather seats. It has all the imaginable bells and whistles. It had only 39,000+ miles on it. Perfect for getting a wheelchair in it. Perfect for cruising about town for next summer’s episode of care. Perfect for the Costco/Target/Lunds&Byerlys runs. Perfect for solo COVID-19 drives, lakeside or countryside, complete with Caribou Coffee and a catchy pop song or calm silence.
Brian had another vehicle that might work. He took us upstairs and into the shop.
The crew members bustled about, detailing and cleaning up bumps and scrapes on several Hondas. The one he wanted us to see wasn’t even ready for true public consumption. It was also an older model with thousands more miles. (Note: I realllllly didn’t want to spend that much money on this car! I realllly wanted to go with the cheaper, older vehicle. Would I be outvoted? Again?)
We headed back to Brian’s desk. I insisted that I get to test-drive the car Jim just drove before we went any further. So I drove, and I usually hate driving with Jim in the passenger seat. But on this day, he was gentle and kind.
Driving it was nerve-wracking and marvelous at the same time. It was the newest car I’d ever driven. And it had the heftiest price tag, too! But the older models would not “grow” with Rachel’s needs, either. If we need to put a ramp into the van for Rachel, the model has to be ready for those accommodations.
After a short amount of discussion, we began the paperwork. We chose a few financial options that would keep the car maintained and covered for years and miles to come. We signed the dotted line and drove this shiny new BOH right off the lot.
For the next month of September, as I drove along, I noticed how timely this all is…the old van was starting to make odd crunching sounds when I would hit a simple bump on the road. We were gearing up to replace the timing belt (for the second time!) on the old van, a steep sticker price for this one.
And get this: I am very lucky in terms of the accident itself. I mean, as I reported, I got a huge bump on my left arm from the airbag. That’s all. I assumed I would have a bruise for a long time. It was gone in a week.
Sometimes, an event in your life becomes a marker of time. This adventure marks the ending of the first 10 years of Rachel’s recovery. Now, the BOH has a new set of wheels, raring to move us onto the next decade of adventure.
Act II – New year, new gear
“I like a teacher who gives you something to take home to think about besides homework.” Lily Tomlin
Rachel entered the 8th grade on September 8th, 2020. For the first month or so, she was on a hybrid schedule. That was working. I was used to helping, assisting, and directing. But somewhere along the line, her new team at MWHS suggested that we send Rachel in four times a week.
One of the big lessons that the state learned from spring is that special needs kids need extra help, and parents aren’t always the best “teachers.” It is usually the school setting where kids like Rachel meet challenges and excel thanks to this support. Jim and I talked about it: it is a risk to some degree, yes. But everyone wears masks, and Rachel is a rock star in this too.
Back in late August, I met Rachel’s special ed teacher, Kayla Anderson, and the Special Education Coordinator, Adriana Haugen in a Zoom meeting. I met two women who seemed to like and respect each other. I met two women who had a sense of humor, asked questions, and listened while taking good notes. I met two young women whose outlook on teaching was strident, strong, and stable, even in the face of uncertainty.
When I heard that Kayla was 25, I fought hard to “curb my enthusiasm” to tease her. Hell, she’s half my age! If anything, she sounded pretty mature. I sensed sincerity and genuine curiosity about how best to help and support my daughter and her classmates. I still was nervous about leaving the known, which was the middle school, and starting in a brand, new spot, at the high school. Doesn’t any parent?
One of the things that makes everything easier as a parent is the communications system. They use Remind, an app available to schools, and parents, teachers, and paras can enter information about each student’s day. I strongly “encouraged” that the team use SOMETHING. I found out that I was NOT the only parent advocating for the communication app. It is on my phone, my laptop, Jim’s phone, and Grandma Kathy’s too.
By the end of September, it was clear that Remind created cohesion and clarity for all who used it. What have I read about during Rachel’s day? A big success is her willingness to void at school once again. This disappeared last year, but now it’s back, and the paras are clear and honest about potty training. This is a huge win.
I also read about what she’s learning in science, one of the mainstreamed courses she takes. Rachel likes science, and that’s right in line with who her parents are: a teacher-mom and an analytically-minded and sci-fi loving dad. If we look at a weather report about tornadoes, she says “TORNADO!” If we look at stars in the sky, she says, “It’s science!” If we talk about how the days get longer or shorter, her eyes flicker with a flash of familiarity. I know about this, she seems to say.
One more note about science: in the IEP we had recently, the teacher, Diane, said that Rachel has the choice to do testing that is adapted for her or the “regular” one her neurotypical peers take. Rachel chooses the latter, not the former. That impresses Diane, and that makes me incredibly proud.
She takes regular PE and DAPE (adaptive phy ed.) too. I read about the stretching she does, the steps she takes, and the balls she catches. One day, she successfully caught 10 tosses in a row. Her Boppa Dom would be so proud of this. #fistpump
She also takes math, English, social skills, and work experience. What’s different here are two words: life skills. Let me explain: the special ed students are placed in these courses so that when they graduate, they can draw from a bank of real-life ability. Hence these classes come with life skills in front of the subject, i.e. Life Skills English or Life Skills Math. While Rachel was in the work experience class one Friday, I watched the students with Kayla debate when it’s “okay” to be late for something.
In Rachel’s main classroom, they have a dishwasher, a sink, a basic kitchen set-up. The students take turns sweeping, mopping, doing dishes, and wiping down counters. In life skills math, they make treats and learn fractions with the measuring cups and spoons. (In fact, when we made butternut squash pancakes the other day, her eyes lit up when I pulled out all the tools and ingredients. She exclaimed, “Like at school!” I smiled and gave her a high-five.)
You might be reading this and saying, WOW, this is great Melissa! I wish my kid did this! I have to be honest: I wasn’t crazy about this life skills idea at all in the beginning. I felt as though it set a short bar for students like Rachel, and in the words of James Baldwin, “their heads bumped abruptly against the low ceiling of their actual possibilities.” I keep setting that bar high for Rachel, so I thought this was beneath her capability.
I can’t tell you the precise moment of revelation, but somehow, I just got this thought in my head: Let it go for now, Melissa. See what happens. Must be a perk of being 50, this wisdom that just shows up when I least expect it. Or want it.
For the Life Skills English class, I found out there was no class novel. What the…? Remember, because of this pandemic, while at home in March, I watched Rachel track a novel. Comprehend it. Answer questions accurately about the novel, Series of Unfortunate Events. What do I do about this? I wrestled with making a suggestion to Kayla or keeping my mouth shut.
So, I opened my big mouth and gave Kayla something I read called Out of my Mind by Sharon M. Draper. It features a girl who can’t speak, is in a wheelchair, and finds her voice thanks to a “talking machine.” Through it, her family and community learn how bright and capable she is. This novel isn’t just for young people, it’s for all people. Grab yourself a copy.
Kayla kindly listened to me; she even read the book over a weekend. The next time students met for Life Skills English, guess what they were reading? I think the students like it, and when I found a copy of the novel inside a Little Lending Library, Rachel flashed me a big smile. “Melody!” she said, referring to the main character’s name.
At night, when Rachel has the energy, I will grab a simple book with lots of sight words in it. We’ve been using a boxed set of Curious George readers, and by golly, Rachel is reading 95 percent of the words. I still want to help by sounding out the first letter of a word I want her to read or say. Look, I know I must stop, but damn it’s a hard habit to break.
Her sentences are getting longer, though, with or without my help. I was looking for a side dish for dinner as we were low on salad stuff. I found a can of beets, and I held it up to show her.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“They’re called beets, and I think you’ll like them.”
Rachel responded in one breath, “I have never tried that before.” [If you’re counting like I do, that’s six words.]
Another day, Rachel and I were eating what I call naked salads. [For those unaware, the ingredients are tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and spinach. I add salt. That’s it. No dressing. Yeah, it tastes fine. You should try it. Don’t argue with me.] Anyway, I watched Rachel stab her salad with a fork, trying to load it up with the crispy, tasty goods.
“Be careful Rachel.”
“I am being careful, Mom.” Yep, her language skills improve, one forkful at a time.
Act III: The teacher in a wilderness
“Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today.” – Thich Nhat Hanh
I had the pleasure of teaching last summer, and that went very well. But teaching a full semester during a pandemic can be exhilarating and exhausting, depending on the day. One of my strengths is in the communication with students: I use the announcement page of our class website, I use email, and I use text messaging. I think students appreciate that. Another strength is the feedback I give on each assignment.
Toward the end of the semester, I think I was getting about four hours of sleep to fulfill these strengths. Often, I would need a power nap at 5 p.m., just before dinner. Students rewarded me with strong final projects and heartfelt praise. Forgive me, for I won’t linger too long here, but I pulled two quotes from reflective letters written by Elizabeth and Jameson, two students from Normandale:
My final reflection shall be devoted to my instructor, Melissa Reid. […] The strength of your teaching hid that weakness [of a lack of weekly required meetings] and turned it into text messaging. It creates a feeling of closeness and security of knowing that if there is something that must be addressed, Melissa is just one click away. Another strength are the beautiful explanations on our assignments and essays. The weekly announcements on the “Content” page in D2L shed an array of smiles and fun into the work, to not make the week be boring. You have treated the class, in my opinion, in a manner of respect, understanding, acceptance, availability, awareness, equality, trustfulness and familiarity. I admired how you opened to us all that you are here as not only a teacher, but also a friend, someone who can see the real you and make sure you are being you. That trait is very much appreciated. – Elizabeth
I’m especially grateful for taking this class. It not only let me develop my ideas through writing but also gave me perspective in half a year of isolation. I revived my interest in reading. And, when I read, I will soon be equipped to write. Sooner still, I will aim to become what I subjectively define as literate. I can comfortably say that, in this labyrinthine hallway, I am dutifully more literate today than during my qualms yesterday, so that in my narrow corridor of life, I can realize there is a greater boulevard of forgotten people, and even a more grandiose crossroad of intertwined stories, but their paralogue is yet to be history—for it is yet to be listened to. – Jameson
It’s hard to believe that these students are under the age of 21. I don’t often share my students’ feedback with you, but during this particular semester, I worked my ass off to earn such praise. And yet, there’s still room to do better this upcoming semester.
Act IV: Lane Change
“Love one another, make something with your hands, and exalt the farmer.” – Nick Offerman
Our basement is an audition for a woodworking show as of late. In every corner, a tool has – or should have – a home. A Craftsman toolbox houses wrenches, nails, and hooks. The walls hold an impressive array of clamps, of which one cannot possess enough, so I am learning.
The woodworker in this case is NOT Nick Offerman, but I know I’m not alone in holding an appreciation for, or, more to the point, a severe crush on the actor from Parks & Rec. The “man-glitter” producer in this home is Jim Reid, my dapper and dashing husband, and he’s taken a hammer and nail to his daily living.
At the end of October, Jim told me he was going to submit his resignation to Stratasys. He laid out his blueprint on how to make money: between food delivery for Door Dash, rehabbing furniture, and woodworking projects, he felt as though he could carve out a living well enough to get by.
In his presentation of this new life, he said that he wanted to help out with Rachel. This is good: our daughter weighs at least 135 lbs., and I weigh around 155. She is getting too heavy for me to do this and that. And Rachel doesn’t always help with transfers as she should. Jim being home to help with morning and afternoon shift from the wheelchair to the chair lift might be kinda, sorta good. Right?
His last day was November 9, and from that day on, he reports to me that he’s never worked so hard. (*Someone predicted this.) He does Door Dash on Thursdays-Saturdays. He watched YouTube videos on best practices and inside tricks. He gives a full news report on the ups and downs of each shift.
On the woodworking side of things, he’s accomplished several goals: He set up his new router, something called an X-Carve. He is learning how his thing works, chasing after knowledge and quality in a small amount of time. He built tables for machinery. He installed a vacuum system for sawdust, and there’s a fancy word for this, but I don’t recall it now…
I’m still figuring where and how I fit in this new role of “lovely assistant.” I found two outlets for
gorgeous pieces of wood that contain something called “live edge.” Have you heard of this? He envisions making various things like coffee tables with these. Do you know anyone in the market for live edge items? He also got several slices of tree trunk, something insiders call “cookies.” Every single time I see them, I think they would make really cool clocks. I even claimed dibs on one or two so I could give it a go.
I can see the future, the potential, and the work it might take him. To his credit, he has been honest about how this is gonna take a while for him to master. Maybe, while Rachel is at school, the two of us can spend a weekday, checking out estate sales, Goodwill stores, and consignment shops to find furniture into which he can breathe new life. Or maybe he’d be better off on his own while I enjoy a quiet house. We’ll figure it out.
Act V: “Crazy good”
“The oak fought the wind and was broken, the willow bent when it must and survived.” Robert Jordan
Things I see or hear:
- When Rachel and I take a tubby, she will discuss the emotions she has and the outcomes for the day. Sometimes, she’ll say, “I’m tired.” But that’s usually on a Wednesday. Mondays and Tuesdays will produce “Have an awesome day.”
- Jim and I were talking, and a disagreement arose.
“Oh, I sense we’re having…” I started.
“…a debate,” Rachel finished. Her ability to finish sentences gets stronger and more accurate. - Her love and comprehension of science has her understanding the pandemic. She claims to be “bored of the coronavirus.” She also understands that vaccines will help. She stops what she is doing when the news discusses it. She also tolerates the mask at school. I didn’t have to “train” her to do so.
- Lately, she has requested Curious George on Hulu. I worry that this is a step backwards in her recovery. But when we are both belly laughing at the same time, it makes me wanna “chase all my cares away.” I’ll get happy any day with this kid.
- Another favorite show she loves is Good Bones, a home renovation program on HGTV. The show features houses stripped down to the “bare bones.” Sometimes homes get beams so that the open concept can happen. Now, Rachel is OBSESSED with beams. She uses her left hand and makes a sweeping motion with it as she points to the ceiling and says, “beam, beam, beam.” Cracks me up every time.
On Christmas Eve morning, we got Rachel fitted for a brace to stem the progression of her scoliosis. While she picked out beautiful purple and white colors, I was struck by another hard truth. And I take some of the blame here too: She’s overweight. Shame on me for rewarding her with so many calories, or letting her snack so I can do something else. I kept thinking, well, she’s still growing. It’s baby fat. It isn’t. I am lucky that she loves salad and veggies. I’ll just keep working on healthier options.
We recently visited Dr. Gormley for a normal checkup. We ticked through our list of Rachel’s can-and-can’t-do-yet list. Even with a damn mask on, Gormley’s eyes smiled at the Umbrella Academy tee shirt with “Coffee, Please?” on it. He is amused at the fact that we let her drink coffee, and he figured out that we picked that shirt with him in mind.
“Dr. Gormley, do you still think she’s doing well in her recovery?” I asked as I re-adjust my mask.
“She’s doing crazy good.”
Postscript: What now?
“Optimism is a strategy for making a better future. Because unless you believe that the future can be better, you are unlikely to step up and take responsibility for making it so.” – Noam Chomsky
Well, what is going to happen next for us? Will Jim be successful in his endeavors? Will Rachel still continue to make strides? Will she have surgery on her back? Will I stay gainfully employed in the coming year? Can we continue to make all this work? Is this what MLK meant when he said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase”?
After 2020, we must be at the bottom of the steps, because all we can do is go up from here, right?
Lift your feet up, and climb with me, one step at a time.
2021, show me what you got, ‘cause we’re ready.
Melissa