I finished writing this book several years ago, and many things have changed since then.

After that disastrous January when our homeschooling programme fell apart, we coasted for many months. Ian spent his days at home with me and we passed our time together walking, shopping, going to cafés for tea, watching TV, reading, playing computer games, listening to music, and laughing. But of school there was none. Not in any formal sense. Ian learned quietly, obliquely almost, about life and his place in it. I continued to expand his word skills and did my best to keep him happy whilst at the same time keeping him awake, there, present and consciously participating. It was pleasant and comfortable for both of us.

And then a good friend who has a special needs child of her own sat me down and told me quite plainly that Ian needed more. Most importantly, he needed to learn to deal with his peers. Neil and I would not always be there, she said, and Ian had to be equipped to deal with a life filled with ‘his’ kind; he had to be able to deal now with a life beyond us. She apologised for being blunt, and I’m sure at the time I was disturbingly quiet and withdrawn, but only because I knew she was right. Ian had to go back to school.

So, we enrolled him in a Special School which had a class devoted to autistic children. It was a good place, welcoming and friendly, and the headmistress and staff were lovely people. But of course it fulfilled my deepest fears, didn’t it? What kind of example would be set for Ian when he spent every day faced with – and imitating – the behaviours of people like him, when that very behaviour was something we had worked so hard to modify? Confronted by the prospect of that, my heart was breaking.

On the other hand, for the first time in many years, I was free.

Yes, when the holidays were over and Ian went back to school, I did my little ‘Braveheart’ dance around the house, crying “Freedom!” to the silence. It was glorious, and I loved it. My time was my own.

What I had to learn to live with, though, was the guilt.

Guilt because I felt I’d failed him. Guilt, because for me, this was the easy option. Guilt even because I feared I wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to continue working with him myself, as I wanted to, because I believed it was the right thing for him.

– o 0 o –

Ian has been at school for several years now. He has grown up and become a man. He is so different from the little lad he used to be, it’s easy to forget. Now, children stare at him in the supermarket with a deep intensity, aware of his strangeness and unsure whether he’s to be trusted or feared. I see this and my heart is squeezed. He’s tall now and he remains strange. I’m not surprised they stare. How could they know my angel has a gentle soul and wouldn’t hurt a fly?

On the whole, Ian has coped well with school and participates in the many activities provided there. He enjoys his cookery and woodwork classes, and looks forward to being allowed to play on the school piano or the school computer. He isn’t pushed in any meaningful way, and because of this, of course he has regressed. He has withdrawn into his autistic self to a very large degree and although he can be drawn out easily enough, he’s a shadow of the bright child he used to be.

I remember how happy Ian was in his mainstream kindergarten class so many years ago, mixing with typical children of a younger age. How forgiving they were towards him, not yet fixed in their attitudes as to what behaviour should or shouldn’t be. How lucky we were to have experienced those few precious months in that beautiful environment, where Ian was growing and absorbing all that was good. What could have been achieved, I wonder now, if it had been possible for that to continue?

We will never know. Today, Ian is 18. He remains profoundly autistic. And yet… all the things he can do – his speech, his computer skills, his extraordinary and wonderful abilities – are ALL there because of the hundreds of hours the therapy team and I spent working with him, all those years ago.

Was it all worth it? Without hesitation, I can say it most definitely was. 

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. 

Ruth was right all those years ago. The little shit was clever. He still is.

He is an amazing young man.

The End