This was written in 1995 with the death of Susan Broomhall. Jeffrey never recovered. We none of us truly recover from grief.
September was the month of waiting. We knew Susan was not coming back. We went to
visit. She put on the most beautiful performance - dressed up and with her make-up on, and tried to show
Jeffrey her morphine administering meter, her freckled face opening in the beautiful smile she
shared with the world. "It makes me feel better, Jeffrey," she said, "but it makes me sleepy."
Jeffrey would not stay long. He was anxious. He went out to the car. "I hope you come to visit
me at my house again," Sue cried from the screen door. We never saw her again.
September 26 evening came. It was Tuesday, and Jeffrey and I lay cuddling together on
the bed as late evening came. The phone rang, something he hates. He let me answer it without
interruption. It was Sue's faithful neighbor to tell me that she had passed away. I thanked her
quietly and hung up. I turned to Jeffrey with tears falling down my cheeks. "Jeffrey, " I said. "
Sue isn't in pain anymore. She's with God." Jeffrey returned the most angelic smile of peace I had
ever seen. He hugged me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He went to sleep while I cried most
of the night.
I lost count of the number of glass tumblers which Jeffrey broke in the kitchen sink, and
the bathroom sink (which gave a better mirrored view and a more close range explosion).
Sometimes whole bowls of rice went sailing down the basement stairs to break on the concrete
floor with a satisfying smash. I bought some plastic tumblers, and served him his rice in old butter
tubs. Chips, his favorite treat, were crumbled into the living room rug for special effects, the new
bag becoming pulverized in a few minutes between his irate fingers. I was not allowed to even
answer the phone for a minute, and I was not allowed out of his sight when I was home. The
anxious evenings of tears, and biting me and biting himself returned. He was in pain from his
soul, he was in real pain from new teeth coming in, he was inconsolable. I considered oral
surgery, and had three different offices, the pediatrician, the dentist, the oral surgeon trying angles
of attack. He was so covered with bruises from biting himself, I again took him to the pediatrician
for documentation in case someone reported his appearance to Child Protection Services.
I know from Mary and Tina's journal entries that he had some small productive times at
school. Susan had always taught him that when something was bothering him, he should do work.
So math, handwriting, reading aloud in a whisper, art, music, and computer work were on target
when he could concentrate. Then came the phrase "Suumit!" First we thought it was "stomach",
and then after numerous repetitions in times of stress I finally translated the absolute obvious: "Sue
miss!"
I went and talked to Jeffrey's class about autism, explaining how some disabilities are
major, being blind or deaf; some are minor, not being able to sing on key; and some are slightly
invisible, being tuned to a sensory channel where the signals go on and off, loud or muffled, clear
or incomprehensible. The class was great. We voted on a great number of items and labeled them
abilities (assets) or disabilities. The class identified some of which belonged to Jeffrey, and
guessed wrong on his knowledge of reading because they could not hear him read aloud as did
other classmates..
Jeffrey's class became the motivating factor in curbing his disturbing behaviors. When he
was not disturbing he could stay with them. Otherwise he and his special teacher left to regroup.
They began to stay in the classroom for longer and longer periods of time. Mary came up with the
idea of special buddies for the day. The kids loved it. She made social stories about his problems.
Jeffrey began to understand and was understood.
Occasionally a teacher still cornered Mary and asked why Jeffrey hadn't been
institutionalized after some observed outburst of violent behavior on his part. The classmates
never asked. They simply gave Jeffrey hi fives in the hallway, or sat with him at lunch. Jeffrey
began to laugh again. Jeffrey began to smile again. It was not always at the appropriate time, but
Jeffrey's laughter is as fresh and infectious as catnip to a cat. Jeffrey had found joy again at
school.
Concentration improved, handwriting improved, multiplying was calming and division was
less personally disturbing to him than subtraction. Subtraction had already happened on the life
scale. I don't ever think Jeffrey will deal with even the symbols of subtraction. Geography and
science became interesting, and we became addicted to Bill Nye the Science Guy. Tina broke
through verbal history afternoons by special projects and imagination. She used sign language
with him when he was unable to speak. He felt that Mary and Tina and Mrs. Colletto were his
friends. He no longer felt betrayed. He carried a sign in the school musical, and did the dances.
He went on the class trip to Indianapolis to the symphony and held his ears because the sound was
too intense. But he was a part of everything.
None of this could have happened in a normal resource room, or a normal classroom, or
with a totally isolated instructional setting. It took the team. Alternative sometimes meant: "This
didn't work, let's try this!" Alternative also meant using every resource of the team: Teachers,
students, parents, childcare, special friends, the school nurse, the secretaries, our principal. We
are fortunate to have a cohesive school rich in people resources: people who have been willing to
learn with us by trial and error as we go through this uncharted course.
Yesterday Jeffrey got upset about his father being away on a business trip and began with
"Suemi(s)t !" The storm passed. There is still an emptiness about one of the dearest friends
Jeffrey will ever have, and certainly one of his most devoted advocates. But as Susan Broomhall
taught Jeffrey: anger can be channelled into constructive work, and we will continue to learn. All
of us.