Authors: Jem Lester
My stomach fights for independence as I open the envelope. I try to read every word but then start scanning, madly. My eyes racing after my finger, pulling words from the text, tallying pluses and minuses as the phrases leap at me.
First Tier Tribunal Special Educational Needs and Disability
DECISION
Appeal by:
Mrs Emma Jewell and Mr Benjamin Jewell
Against decision
of:
London Borough of Wynchgate
Concerning:
Jonah (born 11 May 2000)
Hearing
d
ate:
28 July 2011
Tribunal
panel:
Lianne Wyatt (Tribunal Judge)
Peter Greeling (Specialist Member) Nigel Prior (Specialist Member)
Appeal
Mrs Jewell and Mr Jewell appeal under section 326 of the Education Act 1996 against the contents of a statement of special educational needs made by the London Borough of Wynchgate (LA) for their son, Jonah.
Tribunal’s
conclusions with reasons
We carefully considered the written evidence submitted to the tribunal in advance and the evidence given to us at the hearing. We also took account of the Code of Practice and the relevant sections of the Education Act 1996 and the Special Educational Needs and Disability Act 2001.
Our Conclusions are:
Order
Appeal allowed.
Signed:
Ms Liz Goldthorpe
Lianne Wyatt
Tribunal Judge
Amended under
Rule 44 Health Education and Social Care Chamber Rules 2008
21 September 2011
.
I re-read the last sentence over and over again. Jonah won. And my excitement is for him, for the future he is now assured of, for the expanse of green fields and trees, for the chance he will have to exist without the stresses laid upon him by the unpredictability of a non-autistic world. For me? The revelation that I’ve finally finished something fills me with pride and relief and it is, I reflect – after a string of losses – the first thing I’ve ever won.
For the first time in months – possibly years – I phone Emma with good news.
‘The nightmare is over,’ I say. ‘We won.’
She cries.
So this is victory. I can allow myself that. Dad’s expression of pride, finally finishing something, something life-changing – the realisation that without loving myself, I cannot hope to love another. Emma knew and felt this for herself. She prioritised herself over Jonah; it was what she needed to do. We both screwed up, but at least we’re starting to fix it.
I want to sleep for the remaining week. Emma has posted the news about Jonah on her Facebook page, but all I feel is a sincere bitterness that none of these well-wishers were around to help Emma and me when things were at their toughest. Yet now that we’ve split up and Jonah’s going and the chance to invite us over as a family has evaporated, they’re full of ebullience. I’m affronted by their shortsighted belief that it’s perfectly fine for your eleven-year-old to leave home, probably for good. I feel like sending them all a response, but they wouldn’t get the irony. So I ignore them all, while secretly wishing them many happy years of rehab fees and unwanted pregnancies for their proto-delinquent offspring. Their children’s words will hurt them more than my son’s silence, that I can guarantee them. I need to let these feelings go, I know. They are a cover for my fear and a short-term antidote to my self-loathing, both of which I need to tackle if I want to live a happy life. At least, for the first time, I recognise this fact – which is a good place to start this new journey.
My mood swings between hope and a dull kind of nihilism. If only I could win this for Jonah, I had thought, everything would be good from now on. But feelings are more complicated than that.
Emma arrives to take Jonah for the day and it feels wrong, the three of us in this house, sitting at the kitchen table without Dad. And it occurs to me that this could be the final time around this old table. A full stop for the Jewell family. Maybe I couldn’t admit it to myself before, but they are all leaving me. Soon and for good.
‘Ben, why do you look sad?’ Emma asks.
‘Don’t I always?’
‘It’s time to move on.’
I baulk at this familiar sentiment. ‘Easier said than done.’
Silence.
‘So where do we go from here, Emma?’
‘We have Jonah. We will always be his mum and dad.’
‘Will you have more children?’ The question is out.
‘God, Ben, give me a chance to recover from this first. I don’t know. Part of me feels that I need another go at this, that I need the chance to be a different mother to a different child. To give Jonah another person that loves him. Another part of me is shit scared that it will happen again. You?’
‘No, that’s it for me. I couldn’t deal with the sense of betrayal.’
‘Betrayal of Jonah?’
I nod.
‘Someone told me this last week: if you have one foot in the past and the other in the future, you piss on the present,’ she says.
‘Who was that, the Dalai Lama?’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it? We only really have today,’ she says.
‘Jonah only really cares about the moment,’ I add.
‘Even better. Maybe it’s time we both accepted that he’s an individual, with his own life, to be lived in his way. Maybe we should concede that we’ve learnt more from him than he has from us?’
It rings true for me. ‘I think I recognised that a long time ago, but fought it. Even if he doesn’t understand it, or is never able to recall it or put it into words – even in his head – I want him to feel that I love him. I need to know that I’ve done everything in my power to be a good father. Does that make sense?’
‘Yes. You have and he does. You can see it in his eyes, Ben. He adores you.’
I watch them walk away hand in hand.