A Message From Your Child’s Occupational Therapist

Cute young child deep in thought looking out of a window

Dear Parents, 

I remember the first mother who told me it broke her heart that her little boy couldn’t tell her about his day at school.

I thought about it on the train home, then while I made my dinner, and again as I fell asleep that night.

I thought of one of my Mom’s favourite stories, about how I had come home from my first day school and proudly announced I was “the best of a bad lot”.

I thought about her smile when she tells this story even now.

Sure, I knew the teachers in the school I worked sent home daily detailed reports of the child’s day. But do those factual reports create the fond anecdotes remembered into adulthood?

Do they take away from the absolute powerlessness that comes with knowing your child cannot tell you nobody played with them at lunch?

I wished so much that the mother in question could know that while her child was with us, we were not only her eyes, but in fact we were her heart too.

I wished she knew that our staffroom chatter didn’t consist of celebrity gossip or idle weather chat.

Instead, it’s where we laughed with such affection about the childrens’ funnier (wilder) moments, and how we celebrated each child’s achievements together.

I lost count of how many times a teacher would grab my arm in the corridor and insist I came down to the classroom to see how ‘Johnny’ could write his name, or how ‘Sarah’ was now using her fork to eat lunch. 

I wished I could tell her that it wasn’t just the child ‘achieving as expected’ that moved us.

That on the day we found out we could no longer meet a certain child’s needs as a school, myself and his teacher sat in his classroom and cried. Not the kind of tears where you check your eyeliner in a mirror and then forget about it.

The kind of tears that meant we were almost unaware of each other, and in fact where we were. The crying that hurts your stomach.

Doubting ourselves for what more we could have done, frustrating ourselves with thoughts of the care system, and already painfully missing the joy this child had brought us, and the wisdom and courage his mother had thought us. 

I wish all of you knew that working with your child brings people truly together, building friendships that will last a lifetime.

I wish you knew how it builds within us a strength and resilience we didn’t know we had, but perhaps we learn it from you.

Mostly, I wish you knew it is our biggest privilege and proudest achievement to work with you and your children. 

Yours, 
An Occupational Therapist

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Kate Swenson

Kate Swenson lives in Minnesota with her husband Jamie, and four children, Cooper, Sawyer, Harbor and Wynnie. Kate launched Finding Cooper's Voice from her couch while her now 11-year-old son Cooper was being diagnosed with autism. Back then it was a place to write. Today it is a living, thriving community of people who want to not only advocate for autism, but also make the world a better place for individuals with disabilities and their families. Her first book, Forever Boy, will be released, April 5, 2022.

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