The Tissue Box
The tissue box.
It just part of the room.
Yet you know why it sits there.
They are prepared for this meeting about, your child.
You walk into the classroom, ﬁlled with therapists, specialists and teachers. Chairs lined up with people who spend time with, your child.
Files, papers, and laptops hold information that they have recorded about, your child.
Polite smiles, then quick glance back down at the papers that are lined with goals, tasks, percentages, skills, graphs, and scales all concerning,
Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you settle into your seat feeling ill-prepared for the observations, results, anecdotal notes you will receive about, your child.
You introduce yourself, as does every voice in the room, feeling a bit foolish and trying to recognize who is who amongst the full staff of professionals who assist… your child.
You listen, you process, you remain still, in your seat as internal angst wells up in your chest… angst because this isn't a dream, its a meeting to discuss the shortcomings, difﬁculties, trials, and challenges faced by, your child.
You speak, you share, you joke, you answer the questions and give suggestions to help them better understand, your child.
You zone out, you gaze passed the smartboard screen, lined with bench marks and milestones to meet. You allow yourself to ﬂoat back in time to that moment so long ago when he simply was, your child.
You dream, you fantasize, you yearn for less eyes looking at you, less staff connecting with you, less specialists giving tips to you about, your child.
Yet that isn’t the case.
You’re here with all of them, because of, your child.
And so you reach for the tissue box, just part of the room, they prepared, to discuss future plans for, your child.