If he were here

I am in the middle of a tremendous project. Well, I would like to believe that I am past the middle, and near the end. I am working on my dissertation. As Sekai said, "My mother is going to get her PhD in special education and change things for kids like me." That's what I'm working on. I've been congratulated, commended, even had people marvel at how I am able to keep going, to keep dissertating. I don't think people understand that the dissertation is both a means to an end and a distraction for me. It gives me something to do that allows me to feel as if I am taking giant steps forward, steps toward making the difference that Sekai and I often discussed at length, the difference that will make the world a better place for children like him (e.g., children who have disabilities, children who have experienced trauma, children in foster care,etc.). It also gives me something to do that allows me to devote almost all of my mental energy toward thinking about this one thing. I am grateful for both of these aspects of this process.

However, there are times when I have been working, working, working, for hours on end, then I finish, prepare to leave my office or wherever I happen to be working, start heading home...and it comes (c)rushing back that he is not there. Or there are times when I have been working, working, working, for hours on end, and suddenly I think, "Where is Sekai!?" as if my mind has wandered and I have suddenly realized that I am late to pick him up or to call him...and it comes (c)rushing back that he is not here. Sometimes, I cannot help but think that I would not be getting this done if things were different--if he were here--and sometimes that is so deeply painful and upsetting that I almost don't even want to finish.

When these thoughts (c)rushed upon me today, I could not help but wonder what Sekai would say about my progress, if he were here. I imagined (remembered? I must have remembered, because I could almost hear his voice) him asking if I was finished, my explaining that I made progress, his asking if I had not yet "mastered" it (an IEP reference that unfortunately became part of his lexicon, and which he often used when conversations led to discussions of progress), and then his telling me "good job" (another hold over from a life spent in special education, I am sure), and that he would still call me "Dr. Mom. I mean, Dr. PhD Mom" when the time came. And I am sure that he would. If he were here.