The triplets are taking a bike class at a recent Rec center all week. I didn’t know it was there, about 2 blocks from where Rachel was in school. I have to drive past it 20 times this week. She isn’t inside in a classroom, waiting for donuts or me to bring her something. She isn’t anywhere. My mind still lives in escape mode, that she is alive, she will just be back later. Passing buildings where she might be existing inside and return from “later” tears open my mind’s game and rips me back into reality. The worst feeling I’ve ever felt. I hate this life. The only escape is sleep and alcohol.
Rachel’s new school is full of people just like me and just like you with feelings, hopes, laughs and tears. Young people who have been admitted to the school because they were born with (most) a disability or acquired one along the way like my Rachel. I know that some of the kids there will probably attend the school until age 22 and will transition into the mainstream world. I also know that due to privacy the staff is unable to divulge medical information to the other children about Rachel or her fate. When I am visiting, different kids will strike up a conversation and I have started to tell them things about Rachel. That she was totally normal and healthy, reminding them (especially the boys) that she is only 13, that she is blind. Last night I told two of the other students that Rachel is terminal and the name of her disease (Batten Disease) so that they could read more about Rachel. There is a boy at her school who is truly amazing. He can maneuver his iPad with his feet faster than I can with my fingers. He took a liking to Rachel over the summer when(read the rest)