Thursday 20 August 2020

Results Day

I knew this day would come. The day the rest of her cohort pick up GCSE results but we get nothing. It stings and I need to grieve a while today.

I knew a few years ago that she wouldn’t manage GCSEs and I knew last year for sure that she wouldn’t be doing any, but today still smarts a little. There will be no celebration, no excitement about the next step. No sense of achievement in this way. I need to allow these emotions of sadness and grief to surface, just for a while, to acknowledge them, to reach a place of acceptance (yet) again. This is not the life I would have chosen for her. No one wants to have a child with special needs. Yes, we make the best of it, we put a positive face on, we choose to pull out the positives, see the aspects of life she is making progress in and acknowledge those. But truthfully, deep down, I would give anything for her to be able to grapple with Maths problems and write an essay, to feel a sense of grappling with learning and the sense of achievement exam results bring. Today highlights once again, the differences, the losses, the gap between Immi and her peers. It’s a day that points at what she cannot do, like a bit neon highlighter marking her life. A day that I fight off a sense of failure. I know it is not my fault or anyone’s fault, it is just how life works - life is unfair- but it sucks. Every parent wants the best for their child, wants them to have all the opportunities in the world and today highlights doors that are closed. Thankfully, I think she is blissfully unaware, she moved from Mainstream to specialist provision three years ago and today I am so thankful for that. She is not compared today against a cohort of academic achievers, she feels she has found her tribe. A wonderful bunch of pupils who find joy in many things. But I feel for those that are. That have tried within this strange year, but despite their best efforts results day will deliver little to celebrate.

So today, for a moment I allow myself to grief. To be saddened by the ‘what could have beens’ and to acknowledge the differences. I dig deep to congratulate the ones who have achieved, knowing that for Immi these same accolades won’t ever come.

And then, I will dry my eyes, straighten my crown and go and make breakfast!



7 comments:

  1. It is similar for those who loose a child all thier cohort go on and achieve and struggle and experience life whilst our babies never got off th starting blocks. It's strange how much grief mothers can carry for the loss thier children face and indeed we face in not having that shared moment with them to celebrate or rejoice in such mundane acievements

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    1. Oh Hazel, that is so so hard. My heart goes out to you. You too need to take time to grieve today and then straighten your crown and carry on. xx

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  2. Huge love and hugs from a mum who gets it xxx

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    1. Charlotte, I know you get it with your whole heart. love to you xx

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  3. I know Karen that I don't know what you are experiencing first hand. I'm not in your shoes, but I hear the pain, and I'm glad you are open with us to tell your journey. Words feel empty, and hugs aren't possible, but know that what you've written has impacted me, and I send up a prayer to Father God who really knows and loves you and Immi deeply. May He give you the strength today. xx

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  4. Yes. I feel for you. Our son David was ill for 6 years during his teenage years and missed out on so much. As a mum you suffer more than them. Sending you much love.

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