If I only had someone to talk to. Well, not just anyone, someone who’s been there. Someone who has weighed these particular pros and cons. Is this school really the best? Will he respond and develop? Will he learn to communicate? What is my role in his life now?

I sat down on the couch and rubbed my temples. I blew out a deep breath, puffing out my cheeks. Little Jay did the same. His breath blew hard and fast in my face, he misted me with spittle and laughed. I tickled him. He laughed and squirmed and then ran away milliseconds after I touched him. I heard the siren of his fire truck, his favorite noisy toy, blare. He would lay on the floor ear pressed to carpet and listen to the wail of the truck. If the batteries ran low, as they often did, he would throw it and scream.

I know what he wants. I always do. No teacher would know him the way I know him. I guess I should take some solace in that, but I don’t. Because he might not miss me.

He’d just expect them to know him like I know him.

He’s not ready.