Today was Benjamin’s last speech session. As of 9:15am today there are no more Waiting Room Wednesdays.
This feels weird. And sad.
I may or may not have gotten teary-eyed hugging our speech therapist that has worked with Benjamin off and on for two-and-a-half years.
I haven’t written much about it, but Waiting Room Wednesdays have been a part our weekly routine for over a year now. Each Wednesday I would take Benjamin to back to back appointments for speech, OT, a family therapy session and a social group session with four other little boys.
We’d go from appointment to appointment, skipping school altogether, stopping for lunch and always for a decorated cookie. Sometimes we’d have time for an additional errands like stopping to say hi to the old parrot that lives in a luxury hardware store.
I got very little done on Wednesdays. No waiting room ever had wi-fi and I would schlep any number of chargers, phones, laptops and iTouches to meet our various needs. But, in the endless sitting I’d get a chance to chat on Twitter, brainstorm some posts, make lists of things that may or may not ever get done and generally have a quiet moment to, well, sit.
Wednesdays were long days. Often times they were hard days. Benjamin didn’t always like the work he had to do in any of these appointments. There were days he resisted going. There were days he had a ball. But at the end of the day, weary and quiet, he and I would talk about what he did or what he learned or what was hard and he always did better. He always remembered.
I realized today that I’m going to miss Waiting Room Wednesdays. I’m going to miss the focused time Benjamin and I got to spend together. I’m going to miss all the handholding as we walk across parking lots, all the special lunch dates, our regular stop to get a cookie and watch him analyze which exact cookie is the awesomest. I’m going to miss discovering a new store and the endless diatribe on what he wants to make a plan to buy.
The end of Waiting Room Wednesdays is the equivalent of taking a net away. Our weekly touch sessions with therapists and supporters who help us make sense of this little brain we’re in charge of – is gone. I know it’s time for him to be done, he’s done more than enough work to be ready for everything in school next year, but, I still worry. I still wonder if we need that net.
We don’t. I hope we don’t. I know we don’t.
It all ended quietly today. A few hugs, a few reminders, a high-five, a proud smile and excitement to finally be able to be at school/camp on Wednesdays. I guess that’s how it should end – a year’s worth of quiet moments all taking a bow as the lead skips off to the playground.