There was no kindergarten graduation for James through his school. So we made one ourselves: a private photographer, our immediate family, and a little celebration at the Rhode Island State House.
Years later, at his eighth-grade graduation in Lexington, I sat in the audience while James was one of the speakers, using his AAC communication device.
He did not have to become a graduation speaker to deserve a graduation.
The graduation we made ourselves
That absence mattered. We wanted to mark this part of his childhood, and we decided that we would.
A small celebration in a very grand setting. And it was beautiful.
There are things we can and should insist on for our children. For us, this was not about demanding a particular ceremony. It was about deciding that this milestone mattered, and finding our own way to mark it.
We chose the State House on purpose. We wanted to make a small statement about James’s place in the world and the importance of his milestones. There was something meaningful about celebrating him at a place associated with public life and the decisions that shape it.
Our little family, marking a beginning. James, in his white gown, very much part of the picture.
I love these photographs. The cap held out to one side. The tassel in motion. His Crocs underneath that gown. James smiling in front of all that pale stone.
I am so glad we have these photographs. I can look at the little gold 2018 charm on his tassel and remember the celebration we made for him.
Making something beautiful out of a disappointment does not mean the disappointment was fair.
Our celebration did not make the missing one okay. It gave us something lovely to keep, alongside the knowledge that James deserved to be celebrated in the first place.
Years later, in Lexington
I find it difficult to describe how powerful that was, with the memory of our small kindergarten celebration still so clear.
His belonging did not begin with that speech.
We have written before about learning to listen instead of answering for James. Being in that audience was another reminder of how much it matters to make room for his participation.
I hope, as life changes, that the opportunities around him keep changing for the better. I hope the rights we advocate for become more visible in ordinary experiences: being included, being heard, being part of the occasion.
A graduation is one of those occasions. It matters.
A little room to take it in
Michael wrote about a different kind of pause in The Beautiful Art of Letting Go, when an afternoon at the beach gave him room to stand back and enjoy the moment. I think about that here, too.
Advocacy is part of our family’s life. There are things to question, things to ask for, and things that still need to change.
Years earlier, we had made a celebration for him. Now I could sit in the audience and hear him take his place in this one, using his AAC device.
There was still plenty to advocate for. But in that moment, I wanted to be his mother in the audience, taking it all in.
