For working parents of any children, summer poses a unique set of problems, sometimes expensive, problems.

What do you do with your children for two months? 

Being one of two working parents of a special needs child, summer is made even more difficult. 

Despite offerings of countless camps and summer programs that cover every interest under the sun offered during the summer, most of these amazing sounding camps and programs don’t accept children with special needs. 

Some camps are simply not wheelchair accessible.

Some don’t have facilities that can accommodate personal needs.

Some are simply afraid of kids like mine.

No matter where I send my son, I need to also send adult support, someone who can help him access everything and who can manage his physical and personal needs throughout the day. 

It definitely makes filling summer weeks more complicated and challenging. 

We are fortunate this year because his middle school is allowing him to attend their summer school and camp. 

Not only is it a great way for him to transition from school that he’s been attending for nine years, to high school in August, but it’s affordable, and comfortable for him. 

He’s happy to be, “helping”, to wrangle the younger kids. 

The guy who runs the camp even had a, “Volunteer”, t-shirt made for Cole to wear. 

He feels like a needed member of the community. 

It’s a relief and it promises to be a positive, fun summer for him.

Of course, I’m already fretting over what happens next summer when this won’t be an option! 

One step at a time…

I’ve been thinking a lot about loss this past week. 

Sadly, my mother-in-law passed away after a life-long battle with cancer.

The disease came and went and came and went for the span of over forty years, during which time she led life on her terms, busying herself with family, friends, and community service, and enjoying travels all over the world with my father in law.  No matter how expected, the loss is felt no less.

Five years ago, my own mother who had lived in Oregon for two decades, moved back to Southern California to be near her three grandchildren.

She and Cole are thick as thieves.

For the past five years we’ve spent at least one weekend day with her doing errands, having lunch, and goofing around.

It’s the highlight of Cole’s weekend. He adores her more than anyone in his life.

But this past weekend, my mother moved back to Oregon. 

For different reasons, both losses will be long felt. 

Whilst my husband kindly drove the moving truck up to Oregon for my mom, Cole and I spent a day watching all of the Working Title movies, so we could unabashedly have a good cry, without having to further discuss the sadness’s of the week.

By the time we came to (in my humble opinion) the best of them, Four Weddings and a Funeral, we’d laughed and sobbed our way through Definitely, Maybe, Notting Hill and Love Actually.

It was a cathartic day to say the least.

Cole, being non-verbal, seemed to relish the opportunity to release some of his emotions and we talked some about both of his dear grandmothers and about what I could do to help him cope with both the permanent loss of one and the spatial loss of the other. 

Even with the ability to use a voice output device (Cole uses a Tobii eye gaze device) and a vast array of facial expressions, gestures, and sounds, it’s difficult for a non-verbal young teen to articulate the breaking or distress of his heart adequately.

Which, of course, breaks my own fragile heart. 

In the eye of these life-changing events this past week, sits me.  Me, trying to make sure my husband is okay and supported in his tremendous loss, and me, trying to make sure my son transitions through these losses in one piece. 

There’s no room in this for me to break down and let it all hang out, unless it’s under the guise of teary eyes spilled at watching Hugh Grant’s, William standing up Hen at their wedding, opting to risk it all for love.