Be/longing
I have never really had a home, as such. I have moved so many times that it would require effort to remember them all. My family had always been scattered and fractured when assembled. There have been benefits to such an itinerant, malleable, and independent existence, but there have been many hardships and ongoing struggles, too.
To some extent, I think we’re always grappling with the hurt, and as much as we turn our attention to the present and the future, we have to make peace with the past and the parts of ourselves who we hold there as prisoners. For me, it has always been difficult to feel integrated. Living as an immigrant means that in fundamental ways, I am forever an outsider. But I think the persistence that has been developed across a lifetime of constant rebuilding has helped me to withstand all sorts, even when I don’t do so in a resolutely stoic manner.
The last few days have been a concentrated maelstrom of the threads of my life being woven into something like a recognisable fabric.
For over two years, we have been trying to secure additional support and recognition for our daughter’s needs. Without going into too much detail, the school failed in its duty to care for her. As part of that failure, medical professionals had been unable to provide a conclusive diagnosis of her particular condition. Emma has pushed so hard and borne so much throughout this period of time, and we were left no choice but to raise a formal complaint with the school. The investigation of the complaint revealed that the situation was worse than we could have imagined and uncovered a series of additional concerns.
Friday before last, Emma and I attended a complaint panel with the school and governors, as the second stage of the complaints process. The school made their case, we made ours. Given the circumstances, we were certain that our complaint would be upheld, but administrative proceedings are not always known for turning out the right way. On Wednesday, we received the decision in the post. The complaint was upheld in full. A step along the way, but an important one, because our daughter is surely only one of a number of children who have been let down, and we will do all we can to ensure change is made.
Friday morning, unrelated to the complaint, the doctor called Emma following a review of the second report received from the school. The fact that they were even willing to look at a second report and reconsider the situation was entirely down to Emma’s persistence. The reports had been so different that it delayed their review because they had to follow up with the school to ensure that it was actually their submission.
Friday morning, we finally received confirmation of something we were pretty sure we already knew. Thumper has an autism spectrum disorder. It changes nothing about her, and it doesn’t change anything about the way we love her. Hopefully, it means that we will now be able to learn more about how to help make her life more like she needs it to be, and that she will get the support she needs at school and elsewhere to be as fantastically wonderful as she truly is.
Friday was also notable because it saw me issue and respond to requests that are made of friends. I was invited by a friend we’ll call “Gary" to come around for dinner, music, and wine. Dear reader, despite his assurance otherwise, it certainly looked like a date. We talked a lot and he made me listen to Deacon Blue, but there were many positive aspects, too, and they had to them a throughline of humanity and openness about life and its sometimes less illustrious moments. I am not very good at asking anyone for help, or for trusting that people think of me as a friend enough that they would be willing to help if asked. So I appreciated it a great deal when my singing buddy Emily was able to give me a lift to my man date and home afterward, plus we had a chat beforehand. Driving home after Gary’s would have been unpossible because wine.
Friends.
Saturday was a very special day, on a much bigger scale. Thanksgiving is a huge holiday in America, and we haven’t done much to celebrate it after the first 2 in the UK. Families and friends come together and eat too much, get into uncomfortable disagreements at the table, and tell themselves that it’s precious and worth doing again.
Families have baggage and politics that are impossible to navigate. As much as I have love for my family, a lot of the hurt I carry with me is due to things they have said/not said or done/not done. This year, we have fallen into a new family, unexpectedly.
This band that I am lucky to be in has meant forming ties with some wonderful people, and we have all embraced the “band family.” For the sake of intimations made by SOME, please accept my promise that it is absolutely, definitively not a cult. Now, the savvy among you might be thinking, “But that’s what a cult would say!” To that, I say, fair point.
These people who we have chosen to be our family have brought so much into our life, and we are thankful for them. So, we decided we would host a proper Fake Thanksgiving. We covered most of the food bases, including turkey, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, assorted vegemables, and PIES (pumpkin AND pecan). We watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, some Bears highlights, and some wholly inappropriate programming. We played games, we drank a lot of water, and we laughed a lot. 17 people (+ 2 by videocall), 1 family.
It was the best Thanksgiving I have ever had.
And yesterday, we had a day to recover. A cosy, lie-about, watch rubbish and chat day.
There’s still a lot to fix and figure out. There’s a lot of stuff that I get wrong.
But in these mad few days, I can’t help but wonder if this is what the beginning of belonging feels like.
