I LOVE this picture of you and I can still remember like it was yesterday when I took it. You were a little over a year old and your Grammy bought you your first bikini. Dressing you up was my idea of a hobby, with your adorable bright smile, gorgeous brown eyes and infectious laugh, you were my living baby doll. I stuck that hat on you and you were trying to pull it off when I snapped this picture. I thought you were perfect, your chubby little cheeks and squishy thighs, God; I just wanted to kiss every little inch of you every waking minute. Those days were tough too, being a new mom meant on the job training, and I would have preferred a perfectly laid out plan. I think about those days sometimes because it was just you and me and we had your whole life in front of us and my only worry was protecting you, just like every other mom feels. You were perfectly healthy, you rarely had a cold, and never missed a meal and I thought you were a little Einstein just waiting to emerge. I started to turn into “one of those” mothers. You know the type, thinking their kid was special, smarter, better, and more talented than the rest. Aunt Wenny was going back to school to become a teacher and I learned what one to one correspondence meant. I was convinced by the time you were 18 months old that you knew how to add. I remember calling a preschool and asking them if they were able to enrich kids who were advanced. Damn, was I smug, but like so many moms, we think, actually we know, that our kid is special, and because you live in my heart, you dwell in it 24/7, in my mind, you were not only perfect, you were extraordinarily unique. Those were the days when the innocence of being a new mom with a perfect pregnancy and a perfect baby whom everyone stared at because you were so flipping cute, were the ones I should have slowed down and savored. I was in such a hurry back then to get you to your next milestone, to show off your next trick, to wow childless neighbors and brag to countless strangers. Curious as to why children don’t come with instructions, part of being a new mom is just putting on a happy face and pretending you know exactly what you are doing, and beaming with pride every step of the way. God didn’t give me a set of instructions for you, nor did He even give me the first clue as to who you were or what world I would get to know in the life of a mother. He knows me far better than I know myself, because if I had been forewarned, if I had known that this beautiful cherub who was SO perfect and made everyone smile was to whisk me into a world that I only thought existed for “those poor little kids” whose moms look so beleaguered, I would have broken into a million pieces and never, ever, would have been able to put myself back together.
Twelve years later and I am learning to savor every little moment with you because we have been through so much and you are the pure unadulterated definition of resilience, grace, love, beauty and pure joy. That little baby has been my best teacher, that little baby has made geniuses scratch their head in wonder, that little baby has introduced me to a world that is right in front of us every day, but most have never seen it. That little baby has wrenched my soul with pain as I have learned how God made you. That little baby has taught me unconditional patience and tested the very limits of human emotion. That little baby has made me wonder if I can get through the next minute, the next hour, or the next day without completely coming unglued and never, ever, being the person I was. That little baby has made me discover the dark side of my mind, the part that loathes healthy kids and their whiny mothers. That little baby has forced me to find my voice of reason, instead of the voice that wants to spew profanity at anyone who dares to not understand. That little baby has taught me that relying on your mom to be there means to be present in every situation, means to be ready at a moment’s notice to drop what I am doing and rescue you. That little baby has grown into an amazing child who I still stare at in wonderment as to who and what makes you so incredibly, beautifully special. You need me, you need me in ways that I never thought you would. Time has flown by; these last 12 years seem like 12 minutes. That little baby still needs me, she still needs me to hold her hand, button her pants, and make others understand you. That little baby has grown into a little girl who makes my heart burst with love and hurt with pain. That little baby has grown into a little girl that has endured so many unwanted trips to doctors, therapists, specialists and hospitals. That little girl has endured teachers who were cruel, mean, condescending and made you furious. That little girl has watched me lie to her because telling her the truth would hurt more than I could bear. That little girl has grabbed my heart, my soul, my very existence and owns it, owns every part of it and I am never going to share that with anyone. That little girl has drained every ounce of energy out of me and has given me the strength to carry on through the toughest, darkest, most painful hours. That little girl has put her full trust in me that I will always be there for her to hold her, hug her, love her and work tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure I have given you as much as I possibly can to overcome your obstacles. I love each morning when I walk into your room and see that sweet face sound asleep. I love every morning that I get to stroke your soft little cheek and kiss you good morning. I love every morning that I see you wake up with a smile on your face and giggle when Bella licks your face. I love where we have come from, what we have been through and where we are right now. I wouldn’t change one thing about you, but if I could, I would take it all away and make your challenges mine. That little baby has grown into a little girl who is discovering who she is and while I already know what you are, I would rather you not know. Happy birthday to you my sweet angel, I’m going to spend this day relishing the very existence of you and thanking God for giving me such a special girl.
Happy 12th Birthday Sweetheart May 17, 2013
Reflecting On the Future November 29, 2012
Do We Ever Get “Used” To Having a Special Needs Child?
My almost eleven year old daughter is extraordinarily curious at the moment about pregnant women. Two of her teachers at school are just beginning their third trimester. She loves patting bellies and asking silly questions about their neonatal bathroom habits and sleeping habits. Julia will end this school year’s science class talking about human development, or “baby class” as she describes it. In order to introduce her to the curriculum, I decided it would be fun for her and me to do a joint project showing my pregnancy complete with ultrasound pictures and drawings of what gestation looks like in each trimester. I pulled out her baby book and showed her my pregnancy test, notes, and thoughts as she was developing, ending with those precious pictures of her minutes old swaddled in my arms.
Some parents know before birth, some know at birth, others, like me, had to figure it out. There are no easy introductions to finding out your child has special needs. But when it happens, stand still and stand strong because the avalanche is unrelenting. Your angst will grind the beat of your heart and your maternal optimism will play games with your conscious brain. It will seem like a blur at times and at other times it will feel as though the entire world has not a clue or cares about you, your child or what you are enduring.
Eventually you will find your footing, find your grounding. Yes, I can do this. Come on world, meet my kid, criticize my decisions, stare at her in public, question my actions, and say really unsympathetic comments aimed at making me feel better. This is your life and your child’s life and you have found the new norm. There are bevies of support systems out there and your circle is tight, fierce and tenacious. Victory laps come in the form of small and large accomplishments and you are never at a loss for the complete surprise of the unexpected.
Yeah, I got this. We are good. This is how we roll. Nothing can stop us from forging on and digging a path of independence for our children. Then suddenly, like a tidal wave, new realities set it and questions emerge. Hmmm, when she was still 6 or 7 I thought she would stop the world in their tracks at her abilities and drive. A year or two later and her differences seem a bit bigger now, they stand out more and become uncomfortable at times. Now she is a girl on the verge of puberty, the gateway to adulthood and now I am not so sure. Will she be able to stand on her own, can she catch up to her peers? Is college just a fantasy?
There are some pieces and parts of you that hold on to that beautiful little cherub that was placed in your arms almost 11 years ago. So full of hope, love, wonderment, never in my wildest dreams did I think there was anything “wrong” with her. I followed the rules, ate right, and avoided anything and everything that could be potentially harmful, looked 6 times before I crossed the street and protected her relentlessly. I was vigilant with her schedule, tracked her potty habits and breast fed until I could no longer. She knew her alphabet, loved Elmo and had an infectious laugh. How naïve was I? How little did I know? Reality set in about 4 years later and my world started spinning on its own axis.
She walks around with joy and happiness most of the time, gets a little mouthy as would any 11 year old and challenges the very core of my existence. I reflect on the future and wonder what it might hold. Am I seeing her the way I want to see her, or viewing her the way the rest of the world does? I want to take a survey and find out, but I really don’t care, because what do they know?
I am used to having a special daughter, one who fills my heart with love and has taught me endless compassion. I may never get used to all of her needs or even fully understand them. Sometimes I catch my breath when I realize who she really is, especially in the medical sense, and wonder if I have fully embraced it. Then, there are most days when I intellectually compute all that she is but choose to allow the emotional gifts of motherhood wash away all doubt. I will reflect on her future but relish the daily gifts in raising such a special daughter.
CPS and the CTU: You Can’t Have it Both Ways September 10, 2012
Is it Really About the Kids?
Starting today the children who attend Chicago Public Schools will not be in the classroom because a strike has been called and the collective mindset of the CTU and its leaders believe that closing schools is the best way to give our children and teachers what they need.
What really bothers me is the fact that the children will not be in the classroom by choice. When the teachers voted on a strike, they did so knowing that children would lose precious curriculum time. Keeping kids out of the classroom is counterintuitive to what education is. However, this is their solution.
Interestingly enough, I had the same solution for my daughter last year. I kept her out of school for standardized testing. She is not functioning at grade level and the standardized test, although there are supports in place, is not a reflection of where she is academically. It cannot give a true assessment of her abilities. I pulled her out because by the time the testing was to take place she had been suspended twice for behavior that could have been avoided, and had started exiting the classroom frequently when the stress level was too much for her to process. She would sit in her locker, wander the hallways, and do anything she could to avoid a situation that was clearly not meeting her at the academic level she was displaying. She missed valuable classroom time. School was not really offering any solutions as to how to keep her in the classroom. She was emotionally upset to the point that she did not even want to attend school anymore. The week leading up to standardized testing ended with her cutting her finger while she sat in her locker. She lost so much blood that she passed out, threw up and for the first time in her life I had to call the paramedics. It was the pinnacle moment that solidified the amount of stress and turmoil we had been experiencing in that school. I made the conscience decision to pull her out for the 4 days that her grade was being tested. As I was ready to send her back, I was told that if I did, she would have to make up the testing because some classes were still being tested. I was forced to keep her home an additional 5 days to avoid the makeup testing.
After her return to school I asked for a meeting with school personnel to discuss how we were going to change the atmosphere to keep Julia in the classroom and out of the hallways during periods of curriculum. I met with the Vice Principal and Caseworker. The conversation started with me being chastised for pulling her out of school for testing. I was told I “could not have it both ways”. If I was so concerned about her missing curriculum, why did I pull her from standardized testing? I was dumbfounded. Clearly their concern was not how to collaborate on a better approach for my daughter, it was the fact that a child with several delays and disabilities did not participate in state mandated testing that was above her academic level.
CPS suspended my daughter a total of 9 days last year which was their solution to improving her behavior and performance. According to their documentation, she was a safety threat to people 3 times her size. She missed valuable classroom time on a regular basis. When my legal team approached CPS and asked for mediation and a Board Certified Behavior Analyst, they flatly refused.
CPS then tried to place my daughter, who needs an accessible building, in a non accessible school. They denied her right to attend a school closest to her home; they jeopardized her safety by putting her in a school that does not have the proper evacuation equipment in place to safely remove her from the building. So she poses a safety threat and is suspended, yet when CPS places her safety in jeopardy we cannot even get a response, let alone take any action.
Yet they are striking because the teachers want more and in turn the children will be better off. Keeping the children out of school is their solution to making school a better place for our kids. This is not a kid’s first approach; it is a collective mindset of wanting more due to a sense of entitlement. If our kids really came first they would be in school right now. It’s about optics; we are teaching children that school is an option. The world is not a perfect place, we cannot always get what we want, and we all have to make sacrifices. THAT would be a great lesson for all of us to learn. CPS is failing our children and it starts at the top. I wanted better conditions for my daughter so I held a personal strike against standardized testing. That’s NOT OK, but striking and keeping her out of the classroom so that you can have job security, better pay, and increased health coverage is OK. Interesting, and my response to CPS is “You can’t have it both ways”.
What I Really Want my Daughter to Learn-Let’s Move Past the Token Society May 11, 2012
Reward systems for children in my opinion are very Pavlovian in nature; they are a form of respondent conditioning. The whole idea behind them is to give the child an incentive to “do well”, or meet the expectations of the adults. Then, as the child matures, tokens are replaced by praise and eventually the child will behave as expected. The mindset is to “train” a child’s behavior; therefore, creating an automatic response to adult expectations. When they don’t work, frustration by the adults ensues and punishments become the next resort. This only teaches a child that THEY have to fix the problems, and that the adults will be waiting in the coffers with treasures from the dollar store when they finally arrive at the desired behavior.
I would like to raise the bar on the adults for a minute. I want to move beyond rewards and punishments and introduce ideas such as compassion for understanding learning challenges, respecting the struggles that any particular child faces every day through no fault of their own, that adults make mistakes and are in need of help sometimes too and that feeling achievement, self-worth and confidence are far greater rewards than tangible items. I want my daughter to learn that her actions affect others both positively and negatively. I want her to learn the value of a smile, a compliment, the rewards of bringing someone unexpected pleasures through a hand written note that just simply says “thinking about you”. I want her to understand that sometimes we can do everything that is expected of us and yet it is still not enough, and that those people are to be understood too. I want to raise the bar on the adults to understand the impact their words and actions can have on a child, in a positive way. I want each teacher to have the goal as being the one that stands out in my daughter’s head as a teacher who made a difference when she becomes an adult. I want each adult in my daughter’s life to move beyond text book standards and show that thinking, creativity and leadership are very rewarding characteristics to possess. I want my daughter to feel as though she has a voice and that while authority is to be respected, it is OK to question as long as you have a formulated reason for doing so. I want to teach my daughter that failure is not a negative, but is sometimes the best teacher, for most lifelong lessons come from setbacks. I want my daughter to learn charity, and that others do not have what she has, yet some may have more. I want my daughter to understand that token rewards only bring temporary pleasure and that wanting more can lead to deep displeasure. I want my daughter to be grateful for the life she was given and to respect herself as she learns that ultimately she will have to rely on that God given life for survival. I want my daughter to learn that adults face defeat, adversaries and disappointments every day and that we can chose how to respond. I want my daughter to understand forgiveness, because there are those out there who are selfish, cruel and untrustworthy. I want her to understand to not take those people’s actions personally, but to pray for their own healing because to live in a mind that is so tainted is far worse than the actions imposed upon her.
School is a place to learn, to grow, to explore and to expand one’s mind. It should be the breeding ground for tolerance, justice and acceptance. It is a microcosm of life; we are all different, yet collectively add value and the sum is greater than the parts. When school becomes formulated, differentiation gives way to familiarity. The best educators know when those rare opportunities present themselves as tangible lessons that benefit everyone in different ways. The best teachers are those that realize when something isn’t working that it is time to focus inward and not rely on statistics to satisfy the norm. Teachers, schools and parents all share the same responsibility; shape minds, make a difference, lead by example and realize that a happy child is not a given, but a result of continually finding the best methods for harnessing their enthusiasm, desire and imagination. There is no such thing as conventional wisdom when making a difference, what makes a difference is raising the bar on us to do better and the by-product of our efforts will result in children who want to do better as well. Take away the tokens and replace them with pride, compassion and love. When we do this, the results will be reward enough, because we will have wrought a young mind and they will understand the value in true learning.
Putting a Child in Handcuffs April 21, 2012
School Policy or Barbarian Mindset? My. Child. Could. Be. Next.
Perhaps by now you have heard or read about the 6 year old in Georgia that threw a temper tantrum in her kindergarten class and ultimately ended up in a holding cell at the local jail. Yes, it is true, no I am not exaggerating. It happened last Friday, as this 6 year old was throwing and stomping, the adults in the school, after trying to reach her mother, decided the best course of action was to call the police. At one point, according to the report, the little girl actually calmed down enough to ask to be sent home. Instead, the principal and officer thought it was best to handcuff this little girls hands behind her back, put her in a police car and place her in a holding cell until someone could come and collect her. She had been charged with juvenile destruction of property and personal injury; the charges were dismissed due to her age. There had been no other reports of such behavior prior, and she does not have any diagnosis that would contribute to this behavior. She was initially expelled from school for the rest of the year, but they rescinded that and invited her back. Mom has decided after counseling to address the trauma this child experienced, to move her to a different district.
This scene could easily make headlines here in Chicago at Oscar Mayer Elementary School. I am not exaggerating, I am dead serious. Not only do I know this, but now my daughter is privy to this intervention because in an attempt to get her to calm down yesterday, the caseworker told her they would call the police after they called me. Chicago Public School’s policy is that if a child is being unruly and the staff and/or parent cannot remove them from the situation, they will call a Crisis Intervention Team within CPS, who in turn can call the police and have my daughter cuffed. It is for her safety, of course, this is not punitive, according to those making these policies. I am picturing my 10 year old, all 60 pounds of her with her blue walker, Kermit the Frog lunch box and Justin Beiber T-Shirt being escorted out of the school by a 250 pound male police officer in cuffs because it is for her safety. I am guessing they would cuff her to her walker, maybe attaching Kermit with another cuff just so he is safe too. She would get a free ride to the local station and probably charged with some type of infraction.
After contacting every local news station and putting the video of her being escorted out in cuffs on the internet, I would contact a civil rights attorney and form my own crisis intervention team to see if we could recover any part of my child’s self esteem and confidence before any permanent damage results.
You shake your head in disbelief and wonder where we have gone wrong? Yes, so do I. I imagine if Helen Keller had attended CPS she would have ended up a delinquent due to her behavior instead of going on to becoming a national hero and role model for persons with visual and auditory deficits. She would have no doubt dropped out of school, turned to drugs and probably killed herself or someone else instead of meeting with presidents and international figures to bring attention to the cognitive abilities of people with disabilities. In 1887 her parents had the forethought to hire Annie Sullivan to help their child live a functional life. 125 years later you would have thought and hoped that our society would move light years from locking these kids up. When JFK visited an institution full of persons with cognitive and physical disabilities he referred to it as a “snake pit”. Hence the civil rights acts followed and in the 20th century people finally figured out that we are all created equal.
Here we are in the 21st century and we want to think we are all open minded, tolerant citizens who give those born with less all of the help they need to just stay close to last place. Yes, Julia works hard, really hard to stay 2 ½ years behind her peers. Her behaviors match her cognitive abilities, she knows right from wrong, but has a difficult time processing emotions. The school has asked her to not return on Monday, she is suspended, again, for the 2nd time this year. At least this time they chose to acquiesce to my request and not tell her of the suspension. They realized from the last time that the emotional impact the “S” as she called it had on her far out weighted any “good” in which it was intended. Chicago Public Schools policy manual clearly states that their procedures are “To achieve a safe, civil and respectful learning environment, schools should clearly define, teach, reinforce, model, and review a short set of expectations for positive student behavior. Schools should also explain to students the behaviors that are inappropriate. If students engage in inappropriate behavior, schools should correct, redirect, and render consequences as needed. Any discipline imposed should be instructional and corrective, and out-of-school suspensions should be used as a last resort, unless necessary due to the severity of a student’s misconduct.”[1]
So much open to interpretation, because it is assumed that reasonable, highly educated teachers and administrators will make decisions in the best interest of the student’s physical and emotional health. However, when all logic is defied and impositions are placed upon children who are unable to process them, the parents get to clean up the unraveling child, hold them tight, reassure them that they are loved and pray that over time the decisions made by adults from the past will not continue to haunt them forever in the future.
Next year the system is adopting a longer school day, my child will be out of my reach for an additional 1 ½ hours a day. I would hope that the additional time will allow those who interact with her more time to get to know her. I would also hope that somewhere within that school or CPS in general, and that a true leader will emerge. One that realizes children have real needs, some more than others, but underlying all of their needs is a basic desire to be understood. Once you understand, you can teach, and out of teaching comes transformation. Policing children doesn’t work. Change can only occur when there are enough people to agree on a collective thought. Apparently we have a lot of work to do.
[1] Chicago Public Schools Policy Manual
Title: ADOPT STUDENT CODE OF CONDUCT FOR CHICAGO PUBLIC SCHOOLS FOR THE
2011-2012 SCHOOL YEAR
Section: 705.5
Board Report: 11-0727-PO2 Date Adopted: July 27, 2011
Playing in the Sandbox August 11, 2011
My nephew Nicholas, my sister’s oldest son, finally realized his dream of becoming part of the U.S. Military. His first choice was to be a Marine and when that did not happen, he took a step back and thought about a career in civilian life. The itch needed to be scratched and one day he came home and announced that he had joined the Army. With much angst and trepidation, my sister took it in stride as she knew in the back of her mind he was going to fulfill his dream. This past July he graduated from Ft. Knox as a Pvt. He is part of the Stryker force and the plan as he knew it was that he would be going to Germany for a year to continue his training. Part of his excitement was the chance to see Europe. 21 year old kids from Lancaster Ohio do not get the opportunity to travel abroad much less spend a year in a foreign country. He spent time home after graduation, and my sister drove him to the airport last Thursday for the next journey in his military life to begin. She struggled with letting him go, but knew in her heart that her job in raising him to be a strong, independent man was now being realized. I finally caught up with my nephew the morning of his flight to Germany. He sounded great, ready to pursue the next part of his dream. That was Thursday. On Saturday I got a text from my sister to call her, I didn’t right away and planned to catch up with her later in the evening. She called once, then twice. I was at a friend’s house. I quickly texted her, “You OK?”, her response was “No, Nicholas is being deployed.” “Where” I respond, “AFGHANISTAN- he leaves in a month”.
In that moment everything that I have heard, thought, read, witnessed and ignored about the wars we are fighting, became stark reality. This past weekend 39 troops were killed in one of the deadliest days yet in this war. That headline, when I initially heard it, made me stop and think for about 5 seconds. Sad, sorrow for the families, move on. Now, I find myself imagining what that phone call in the middle of the night feels like.
My sister is trying to grapple with this new reality, this new facet of her life as a mother that will be a permanent part of her son’s life until the day he is discharged. They say only 1% of families are directly affected by the wars we are fighting, yet that 1% typically has a family history of serving their country. Nicholas was proud to have had a great grandfather in WWII, and a grandfather in the Army. He saw this as a generational obligation and opportunity. A 21 year olds version of serving his country is much different than the generations before him who have experienced enough life to understand the permanency of such decisions.
My sister scrambled and scraped all weekend talking to family and friends trying to find some hope, peace of mind and justification for feeling that Nicholas would have to be OK, period. 21 years old, 12 weeks of basic, 1 month of overseas deployment and then off to war. Yes, the military has done this before, hundreds of thousands of times; they know what they are doing, right? Of course they do, they have a country to protect, they will make sure he is only put in situations that he is trained to do, that he can handle.
Nicholas’ last Facebook post was “Ok boys and girls here’s what’s up. In case you haven’t heard I am going to play in the sand box on the sixth. It will be a (roughly) six month deployment and we should be back January (maybe). My mailing address is: Pvt. Moore Nicholas M./ 4-70 armor HTTC/ CMR 405 #2629/ APO AE 09034-2629. Slashes are line breaks. It’s a little confusing so if you send me mail and I don’t acknowledge it in like a week or 2 let me know and I’ll double check it.”
God only knows what his outcome will be. Our family has been touched by these wars on the periphery. This time it feels much different. Nicholas and his battle buddies call it playing in the sandbox. Little boys play army, little girls dress up and become fairy princesses. I guess if there is any beauty in this, if there is any solace to be sought, it is that the young are naïve by default; it is impossible to explain experiences, you have to live them. Part of his battle will be mental; it will be suppressing any doubt and depending solely on the fine men and women that have braved these wars before him, I suppose referring to it as “playing in the sandbox” is one way to deal with it.
I LOVE YOU June 9, 2011
I took Julia to the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago for a standing physical therapy appointment. We are at RIC twice a week, I cannot tell you how many times I have been at that hospital, maybe 2 or 3 hundred times, who knows? I have seen old and young, apparent victims of fires and some who I wonder what brought them into rehab. Today, I met someone who I believe God sent.
We were waiting for the elevator when a young girl around 20 or so was in a wheelchair with someone who appeared to be her mother. The young girl said very exuberantly “Hi! What’s your name?” to Julia, me, and everyone else in her sight. I introduced us, and asked what her name was, “its Bridget” she said. We all got off on the 2nd floor to grab a soda before therapy. I asked the older woman if that was her daughter, she said yes, and then I asked her what happened, this is where the story begins.
Bridget was a brilliant student, top honors in high school and already in the Masters program at DePaul, she was 21 years old. Bridget’s dad is a physician and she had the privilege of extensive traveling throughout her childhood and even in college. Italy, Spain, Greece, you name it, she had experienced it. The pride her mother exuded about her daughter was infectious. She was on her way to becoming an engineer. She was an award winning writer, blogger and worked part time on campus. She was one of three children and clearly her mother’s favorite. She was walking in River North one afternoon with some friends when a car hit her, the driver was texting. She was rushed to the hospital and her family was told she would not make it. She survived the trauma, but was in a coma. Her family was told she would not come out of the coma, she did. They told her family she would never walk, talk, be able to feed herself, swallow, essentially, she would be a vegetable. They were wrong. Two years of rehabilitation and she is able to walk some on her own and has a mentality of a ten year old. Now, her family is trying to find the best place to put her. She was at one of RIC’s satellite facilities and was “released” because she was too disruptive. Clearly, that was not the case, and her mother was not pleased. Her mother is optimistic that she will become independent some day. They are a family of faith, Catholic to be exact. She says Bridget constantly genuflects and prays, asking God to help her recover. Her traumatic brain injury did not affect her relationship with God.
We were leaving to go home and I saw Bridget again in the hallway, once again she exuberantly said “Hi! What’s your name?” I said “I am Tammy and this is Julia”,they were going in one elevator as we were going into another. Bridget waved and said “I love you”, I waved back and said “I love you too.”
