Letting go

He was settled in. The single bed in his room for the weekend was made, with his bedding. The educators had his dispill container with his daily medication divided up per day of the week and time of day. I had showed them his clothing, taken out his jammies for the night and laid them on his pillow. I had filled out the longer version of the administration form for a new camper, so they were already aware of as many details as possible, including his likes and dislikes, his routine, challenges and strengths. I had taken a photo of him with two of the educators. I knew they were going to be a smaller group, so the educators were not only well trained, but also the ratio of educator to camper permitted more ease to handle their special needs campers for the weekend.

But when I looked my son in the face, and he looked me in the eyes, he looked so uncertain, my heart pinched.

A respite weekend for special needs families can actually mean respite for everyone. My son is fifteen years old. He spends a lot of time with his parents. He does love being with peers, and being independent, having his own life and activities. This weekend was as much for him as it was for me, and for his brother.

Speaking of his brother, he has just started high school. He is in this interesting place of still being a kid, but being taller than me, almost as tall as his older brother. He rarely complains about the unpredictability (and predictability) of life with a special needs sibling, and is called upon to help out on a daily basis, from shepherding in public places to occasional babysitting.

I knew that a respite weekend would be good for him too. With Richmond Fair on the slate, for first time ever, we would go just the two of us. In the past there were tough moments when his brother couldn't handle the hullabaloo of the Fair and melted down, in full sensory overload. One year we only managed thirty minutes on site before we had to leave. Soon my youngest son will be attending more events with friends, so I felt privileged to have this time with him.

His older brother was attending Camp Garagona's teenage respite weekend. He was attending Richmond Fair on Saturday with me.

Back to my departure from Garagona... I looked into my eldest son's brown eyes that were searching mine. I could see that while he was excited to be there, he was also fragile. I told him, to the best of my ability, what was going on - that he was going to have fun with friends, that I was going to be back on Sunday. I could tell that while he was nervous, he was also ready for me to leave.

I left.

I walked through the double doors. They closed behind me. He stood at the door and looked at me through the window. My heart pinched again, my throat tightened.

I felt simultaneously great knowing that he was going to have so much fun, and that I had complete faith in the Camp Garagona team, and awful, not being able to help him understand what was going on.

On Saturday, my youngest and I got our acts together and on the road. We stopped at Subway in Waterloo(one of his favourite restaurants) for a late lunch. We stopped by my Mum's to drop our sleepover gear off, and then headed to the Fair. Our wait wasn't terribly long. We made the slow bump down to row 37 in the back parking area - a perfectly beautiful day had clearly brought people in to stay. We climbed aboard a red wagon pulled by a smart red tractor and were chauffered from the parking area to the main site along with other Fairgoers on site by Craig Mccourt, on driving duty for the day with his cousin Nelson.

We visited with my brother and his family at the John Deere Agritex lot on site. We shuffled around the midway. Every once in a while we both had a feeling of wondering where my eldest son was - we are both fine-tuned to his presence, and the stress of his absence. We talked about the feeling.

My youngest played the small 25 cent crane game, his investment yielding no strange, small, useless prizes. We visited with some of my former students from Richmond Regional High School, and stopped so my son could try his hand at the dart game, aiming to pop balloons for strange little stuffed toys. He initially won a Rastafarian banana, then upgraded to a small Nintendo controller pillow. We stopped at a food trailer and bought a bag of cotton candy each, a treat we had decided on before arriving on site.

We queued up for the Egyptian boat ride (the only one there that I could conceivably ride without feeling horrible), and once on-board the thrill was quick. I turned to my right and looked into my son's face. His expression spoke to something along the lines of terror. I reassured him to have fun, although my own heart skipped a few beats when the ride met its full roar and held us facing the grown for a fraction of a section as it swung like a pendulum back and forth.

We disembarked in laughter. He's always alright when it works out in the end.

He rode the Surf's Up game while I watched, and then we went back to the dart game - maybe he could upgrade to an even better prize if he traded in the Nintendo controller pillow. The carnival worker agreed. We decided to play against each other to see who could pop more balloons (I knew if I paid to play too his odds of a better prize would improve). He beat me, popping three out of three, to my two out of three. The carnival worker handed him the medium-sized bright yellow Pikachu plush toy (the main character of the much loved Pokémon characters).

Everyone loves teddy bears, stuffed animals and dolls longer than they admit.

Through the whole visit, I could see that my child felt spoiled with time. I was able to give him a quality of attention he doesn't get very often, as my energy is split and thinned, along with my patience at times. We just had pure fun.

The next day, after our return to Knowlton from Richmond, I made the beautiful drive back to Frelighsburg. It turns out I had the luxury of spies at Camp Garagona, and a series of photos of Angus having fun had been sent to me (thank you Erica Kemp). I was already breathing easy.

Respite weekends are not always something we get used to the first time. Sometimes even after several times there is a moment of doubt or guilt - but time apart for our special needs loved one, in a safe and fun environment is good for everyone.

This weekend will allow for future retreats that are easier to explain and look forward to, where we all have a little experience under our belts. Thank you to Nick Brien and Erica Kemp, and the Camp Garagona educators who were there with my son for the weekend. Thank you as well to Butters Foundation for investing in this important resource and for providing our family with a bursary to help defray the costs of this precious service.

Some of you caregivers out there may be pondering occasional respite services and you may feel guilty or overwhelmed at the idea. Allow me to encourage you to give it a shot - and begin exploring what kind of experience would suit your family.