I remember one time when supporting the one that is jibbily (a made up word that should most definitely be in the Oxford English Dictionary...jibbily is a word that has several meanings from water over flowing, to a broken machine to a wobbly tummy) run a bath and him suddenly turning to me with a rather perplexed expression, pointing to my belly and asking 'maybe...baby?'. Although I may be no Elle MacPherson, I was certainly no man mountain either. I laughed though and replied that there was no baby. The Jibbily One still needed further reassurance here and had to double check that although I had no baby, my stomach was 'just fat?'. 'Yes, darling, just fat.' The matter was not settled there, however. No, no, The Jibbily One felt the need to tell my team leader that there was 'No, baby. Just fat' whilst pointing at my belly. He clearly thought others may have been pondering this matter also. You may be picturing a cute wee boy of around four or five when thinking of my reaction to these rather ego destroying comments; you'd be wrong. The boy is question was in fact fifteen when he made these comments. So why was I not more embarrassed by them? The Jibbily One (also inventor of the word jibbily...) is autistic and he was merely pointing out that at a size 12 and barely making five foot four I could have done with a little toning. Autistic children have a marvellous habit of telling you EXACTLY what they find and nothing else. There is no skirting around any subject and there are few social niceties. It is wonderfully refreshing and if you can't admit to having a bit of chub when a child so beautifully points it out to you then get the hell out of the building and apply for a job at a bank quick smart. It really is your loss, not theirs.
There have been many children from this school that mean the world to me (which is why I still regularly head back to see them), but none more than My Little Dragon. I worked with him for many years in and outside of the school and spent more than one evening chatting away until the early hours of the morning with his darling mum. He was special to me for so many reasons. His northern twang which opposed the rest of his families public school accents; his fear of microwaves; his Italian temper; his warmth; his utter denial at biting his finger nails whilst biting them; his 'Ay - Up!' and the way he started the trend of 'JoJo'. It's easy to see that I adored him and I don't mind telling you that I was his favourite too. So there.
You can imagine then my utter devastation when he unexpectedly passed away a year and a half ago. He died and he took a little piece of me with him. I don't think I'll ever truly get over the loss I felt when My Little Dragon was taken and this evening proved that to me once again.
I was watching a programme that my family and I always watch, but this evenings episode had the death of an adult with special needs and watching the grieving characters say goodbye to their friend, sister, all I could think of was My Little Dragon. From a single tear that would always befall me during a sad part in any film, I suddenly found myself uncontrollably sobbing, struggling to tell my perplexed family why I suddenly couldn't breathe. Silently sobbing into my mum's jumper all I could picture was his small wicker coffin in the middle of the Oxford University Chapel where we all said goodbye to him. And all I could hear were his brothers words at the end of his most touching eulogy 'I miss you lots...and lots...and lots'. My Little Dragon didn't like anything unless he liked it lots, and lots, and lots.
So as I sit here, eyes still numb and swollen from my sudden transportation to the worst day of my life, I will remember what The Nice One told me on the anniversary of My Little Dragon's death, that it is ok to feel sad when remembering the ones we have lost and I will feel sad for the rest of the evening, for tomorrow I will concentrate on becoming a special needs teacher and the person that My Little Dragon saw in me.
But I will always miss My Little Dragon lots, and lots, and lots...
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