La, la, la. The plans are set. I know who her teachers will be in the fall. It’s going to be a great year! But wait. Someone is leaving. Her main teacher for next year is taking a job somewhere else. I’m finding out through the grapevine, before his resignation papers have even been signed. Time to panic?

No.

Let me tell you a story. We were living in Virginia, and the school district was about 20 years behind when it came to autism. Asperger’s was hardly on their radar.

A massive search ensued. Todd is a hospital pharmacist, so we can pretty much go anywhere and were willing to do so, for a school capable of meeting our daughter’s needs. I researched and found a charter school specifically for kids with Asperger’s and/or ADHD. After a lot of research, I visited and was impressed.

We sold our house. Packed up everything. Moved to Ohio. Rented a house. Todd began working at a new hospital and we spent the summer getting to know the area.

In the fall, Riley started at the new school. Her teacher, whom we’d made a point of meeting over the summer to ease the transition, quit the first day. Rather than putting Riley in the type of class I observed, mostly functioning as a regular classroom, but with extra support, they put her in a small “autism” class with six extremely hyperactive boys. They weren’t budging on the placement because Riley was presenting as high need (due to the fact she was terrified).

Riley is a very nervous child. She has social deficits and sensory issues but anxiety is her biggest challenge. This set-up was like putting a kitten in a room with a bunch of rough, tumbly, loud, boisterous puppies. Oh, and the teacher they found to replace the seasoned one who quit? A new grad.

Each morning, Riley was hysterical. She did not want to go to school. On Friday, two weeks in, I picked her up at the end of the day to find all of the blood vessels broken in her eyes. How long and how hard had she been crying? I could not bring her back there.

That Sunday I went for a long walk. I could not believe I’d convinced my husband to quit his job and move to a state where we knew no one. I'd been trying to be open to new possibilities! It had felt so right. How could my intuition have been so wrong?

It was a gorgeous September day. The sky was bright blue against the white trunks of the Aspen trees. My own anxiety made it almost impossible for me to fill my lungs and breathe. Walking past a beautiful home with an Open House sign in front, I felt an urge to go in. It didn't make sense.

The realtor was a friendly blond woman. Probably forty. Probably a mom. She asked me to sign in, told me it’d been a slow day.

“I don’t know why I’m here. We’re not buying. We’re not even staying in Cleveland,” I told her.

Maybe she was bored, maybe she was just trying to be nice, maybe she was up for a good story, but she asked, “Why?”

The whole sad tale came spewing out of me, accompanied by tears and snot.

“We sold our house!”

“He quit his job!”

Soon, she was in tears,

“Broken blood vessels in her eyes?” She gasped, hands folded dramatically over her heart.

I nodded. She handed me a tissue.

I left feeling cleansed.

The poor woman.

That evening the phone rang and I saw the realty company on the caller ID. When I picked up she said,

“Michelle. The next person who came in to the Open House after you runs the Asperger’s inclusion program for one of the local school districts. She couldn’t say enough about it. She just loves her job! She said they have an amazing program. Do you want her number?”

What did I have to lose? 

In my first conversation with the new teacher, I got chills when she breezily stated the mantra I happen to live by,

“We create our own reality.”

This woman would turn out to be one of the most progressive, hopeful, forward thinking, influential people we will ever meet along Riley’s educational path. The program she’s created is a model for other schools. They know what they are doing. They can handle my daughter. In June, Riley completed her second year there in a mainstream inclusion class and she is thriving. I can breathe.

Sadly, I have no idea who that realtor was, and no way to thank her. I don't even remember the name of the street the open house was on. To me she is an angel.

So anyway, no, I’m not thrilled the teacher slated for Riley’s class next year is leaving. I’d heard good things about him.

I’m also not going to panic.

I've learned things have a way of working out, if I stay open to the possibilities.