Today, I left work a little early to greet the bus. From our front porch, I watched other parents escort their children home from the nearby school.
“Hi, EMILY!” A horn honked as a girl waved enthusiastically to her friend.
I could hear the encouraging shouts from other parents: “Let’s go!” “We’ll be late!” As my son’s bus approached from across the street, I spotted his small head peeking through the window and hurried over. The driver greeted me warmly before carefully beginning to help my son off. She opened the lift, positioning him securely in the center of the ramp.
“Watch your toes!” she cautioned. I always forget that part.
Slowly, he descended, still drowsy from his nap—after a 35-minute ride, it’s no wonder. I scanned the street to ensure it was safe to cross. He’s been riding this special needs bus, designed for children who use wheelchairs, for about eight months now. Back in the ‘90s, we referred to it differently: the short bus.
Seeing him emerge from the bus stirs a mix of emotions, especially in a sea of parents ushering their children home. Part of me instinctively grapples with thoughts that I know I shouldn’t entertain as a mother of a child with special needs. If my son could walk, I surely wouldn’t be rushing him. It must be nice to just WALK home from school!
However, I am also deeply grateful for this bus. It symbolizes what my son has achieved since he first boarded it just eight months ago—a true testament to his resilience against tremendous odds.
For two years, my life revolved around him. At just 2½ years old, he suffered a cardiac arrest due to lung failure from a cold. His fragile condition raised serious concerns among his medical team. I was 39 weeks pregnant with my daughter when a doctor told us the unthinkable: “Your son is dying.”
When I impulsively inquired about how long we had with him, I regretted it instantly. The doctor glanced at my pregnant belly and pondered whether he would even meet his sister. According to her, the best-case scenario was that he would live to see his fifth birthday.
From that point forward, I tried to seize every moment. What are his favorite TV shows? What toys does he adore? Every laugh, every smile, every milestone was sacred. I had to hold on to everything. I had my daughter, celebrated his third birthday, and ventured out with him as much as possible. But he struggled to fend off respiratory illnesses like other kids, leading to frequent ER visits and stays in the ICU. It became clear that school was a distant thought.
Yet, slowly but surely, progress began to unfold. Following a month-long stay in the ICU in August 2014, we noticed slight improvements in his breathing. One night, my husband inadvertently switched off the oxygen, and instead of rushing to restore it, we waited—five minutes, then ten. The numbers on the oximeter remained stable.
We cautiously experimented with longer intervals, and eventually, our medical team confirmed what we had hoped: he was improving. Suddenly, I could envision a future I had thought was impossible. I pictured his artwork hanging on walls, report cards, birthday celebrations, and Valentine’s Day festivities. Instead of hearing the grim predictions of doctors, I started to imagine him thriving in a school environment.
Months later, we received the green light to wean him off oxygen. As I navigated this process, I applied for a school with a special education program that offered integrated therapy—a crucial aspect, as it would allow him to learn in a supportive environment without the burden of endless appointments. This was my chance to return to work while ensuring he connected with peers who shared similar experiences.
Now, when the bus arrives daily, I am reminded of just how quickly circumstances can change. Our journey has not been straightforward or predictable, even when experts made their forecasts. I never anticipated watching my son being lowered from the bus in his little wheelchair, still sleepy after a full day of school.
As back-to-school commercials roll out and the chaos of lunch-packing and bedtime negotiations begins, I find myself overwhelmed yet joyful. I might feel stress like any other mom, but I will also wear a goofy smile amidst the hustle. I’ll always remember that this delightful chaos is a gift that almost didn’t happen.
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Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, Amanda Rivers shares her journey as a mother of a son with special needs, highlighting the emotional complexities surrounding his experience on the ‘short bus.’ After a life-threatening health crisis, her son defied expectations and began attending school, symbolizing hope and progress. Amanda’s story serves as a reminder of the unpredictable paths of parenting and the joy found within them.