“Yes.”
“’Cause its not very sunny at this time of the year. They call it seasonal affective disorder.”
“Really.”
“Yes, maybe you miss the sunshine, too!” “Are you sad?”
“I’m not sad now ’cause I like working with you. I sometimes get sad in the winter. Most of the time I’m happy.”
“Well I’m down.”
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
“Well of course.”
“What?”
“Give me a exlax.”
“What! Are you feeling like you can’t go to the bathroom?”
“No”
“Then why would you need an ex-lax?”
“Don’t know.”
“Do you know what ex-lax is for?”
“I think so.”
“What’s it for? “To make you feel happy”
“Well, ex-lax helps you poop . . . I think you’re thinking of Prozac or Paxil or something, those are called antidepressants.”
“Are you on Prozac?”
“Nope, I don’t need it. Some people really need it ’cause they’re sad all the time.”
“I’m sad all the time.”
“Well, that sucks. Are there things that make you happy?”
“I like Ellen.”
“Well, people who need Prozac feel like nothing makes them happy, even Ellen or seeing their mom.”
“I know.”
“Do you still think you need Prozac?”
“No. I guess.”
People had been coming in and out of Carly’s life as long as I could remember: Joanne, Colin, Amy, Ana, Paula, Yifat, Guerrette, Lori, Susan—a dizzying list of young people on their way to other careers, for the most part. Therapists who stopped in long enough to form a bond only to have it broken after a year or two. Before Carly could write and communicate with her companions, these relationships had an expendable quality to them. Some people were better than others in that they were more patient, more reliable, and more energetic. The relationships were defined more by what Tammy and I needed for Carly than by what Carly wanted for herself. As Carly emerged, she began to form her own connections with people well beyond the scope of our influence—and even beyond our view.
Mel had worked with Carly for two years and been her “Howard” while at Cedarview. But with plans for Carly to move to Toronto, Mel had found a new permanent job and tendered her resignation. It was time for Carly to start letting go of her friend. That Carly, too, would be leaving did not mitigate the sense of loss either of them felt.
“What’s up?” Mel asked one afternoon when Carly was being particularly ornery.
“Just mad.”
“Why?”
“I so don’t want you to leave.”
“I totally understand, I’m sad, too. But you have to realize that you will be going through a lot of changes in the next few months, good changes! Like going to camp, an awesome camp, then going home to Toronto and spending more time with your family. I have a family, too, and I have a house, and I needed a new job to pay for everything. So I want you to know I will always be around! Like on MSN, and when I come to Toronto I’d love to do lunch! What do you think?”
“Autism Resources I doesn’t believe in me.”
“Well, I work for Autism Resources and I believe in you, and so does Claire,” Mel countered, referring to the program director and Mel’s direct supervisor.
“No one knows. Just go be happy.”
“Well, Miss Carly, you certainly know how to lay a guilt trip.”
“I know.”
“Well, I am so glad that I know you and I want to continue our friendship. If you want to?”
“Like I am best friends with Genna,” Carly said.
Genna was another Autism Resources staff member who worked evenings supervising Carly’s dinner and bedtime routine.
“Cool, I’m glad you are bff with Genna. That’s great.”
“Have you ever had a best friend?”
“Yes, I have, I was best friends with a girl Sandra and another girl Sandi in high school and university. My bff, though, is my cousin Jill, she’s the best. Okay, so what should we do on Friday? That’s my last day here.”
“Have a party.”
“What kind of party?”
“A pizza party.”
“Do you read minds! That’s what I was thinking, a pizza party would be so fun.”
“Just us.”
“Okay. Should we watch a movie?”
“I am finished writing.”
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
“I am sad.”
“I’m sad, too.”
“No Mel you are not.”
“How do you know if I’m sad or not?”
“Cause you got a new job.”
“Do you know what the term bittersweet means?”
“No.”
“Bittersweet is a term used when something makes you happy on one hand but really sad on the other hand. Like when I left the show at Deerhurst, I was happy to be done but I was really sad to not work with my friends anymore. And now this decision was bittersweet ’cause I am really happy about my new job, but I am very sad that I won’t be working with you anymore.”
“So you are sad.”
“Yeah, I was really upset when I told Claire I was leaving ’cause I really like her, too.”
“Mel are you going to make lots of money?”
“I’ll make enough money to live comfortably.”
“Do you believe in me?”
“Yes! I think you are very smart and you could change things and help people with autism, but you have to continue to work on controlling your body.”
“No way.”
“I think when you live in Toronto, you will be happier and will be able to help people with autism. You can go to Queen’s Park!” said Mel, referring to the location of our provincial government.
“Mel are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious, I think you have a strong voice and if you continue to work on your behaviors you will be amazing.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I have never known anyone like you, you’re so smart and so funny.”
“For real.”
“Yes, for real.”
“But no one believes.”
“Well, what about Howard and Mom and Dad and Barb and everyone like that?”
“Not sister.”
“Who? Taryn?”
“Yes.”
“She believes in you.”
“Look, her best friend makes fun of me.”
“I don’t know if I believe you; you tend to lie about stuff sometimes, and I know Taryn would be really upset if anyone she knew made fun of you.”
“No it’s true.”
“Which friend?”
“Yolanda.”
“Are you telling the truth, ’cause I will verify this friend with your mom.”
“No I’m lying.”
“Why would you lie to me about something? You really shouldn’t lie because then people can’t trust what you say.”
“Mel Autism Resources is stupid.”
“Actually, I like Autism Resources, and you should remember that Autism Resources works really hard to help kids like you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, Autism Resources helps lots of kids with autism control their behavior and learn new skills. If places like Autism Resources didn’t exist lots of kids wouldn’t get the help they need.”
“Cool.”
“Do you feel any differently about Autism Resources now?”
“No I still think its stupid.”
“Okay, well, you’re entitled to your opinion. What do you want to talk about?”
“So Mel when are you leaving.”
“Well, tomorrow is my last day of work. We’re having a pizza party with a movie. Then I’ll have to come back on a Saturday to train the new person.”
“B
ummer.”
“I’m sad, too. Can we still talk on MSN?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to a really cool camp this summer. Are you excited?”
“Yes.”
“Will you email me from camp and let me know how you like it? I always want to remain friends with you. I think you’re totally cool.”
“Mel are you kidding?”
“No, I would never lie to my friends. I think you are amazing and I’d like to stay friends.”
“Howard asked if he could make an important movie.”
“What kind of movie?”
“A movie about Autism.”
“Cool, so like a documentary?”
“I think so.”
“Wow! That sounds great. Would you be the star?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds awesome! “Wanna play a fun game called M.A.S.H.?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet, I’m gonna read your future!”
On their last day together, Carly did not officially say good-bye. Perhaps it’s too painful for her to close doors, even as others open. I am certain that Carly does not lag behind us in our world; rather it is us who are playing catch up. She has her own way of wrapping things up, creating order out of chaos. Unable to feel or share emotions? Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, what better way to say good-bye than to hold on to a sweet memory.
“What’s so funny, Carly?” asked Mel. “Mel you are so funny.”
“What did I say or do that you found funny?”
“Has been so nice knowing you.”
“Carly, I’m not dropping off the face of the earth, I’m still gonna be around!”
“Mel I remember a great thing you did.”
“What’s that?”
“You made me cupcakes,” Carly said nostalgically. With that, she gave the sign for “finished” and closed her computer with Mel for the last time.
21
Staring Evil in the Face
“Have you ever stood up for any thing you believed in before, Carlito?”
“Yes,” he replied with resentment.
“What was it?”
“You and taking you through the gauntlet.”
“So then believe in me. I know what I’m doing.”
I looked at her and replied, “really?”
“No. But you have to trust me.”
Something in her voice made me want to trust her. Hooowie hovered in a spot and waited for us to come to him. “We are almost through the forest but it’s getting dark and this forest has two faces to it,” Carlito said.
“What does that mean?” Tareena anxiously asked. “It’s like humans. They can be nice one second and mean the next.”
“I have had many teachers like that,” Tareena replied. “This is a lot worse tareena,” Hoowie commented. “Come night fall this forest becomes crawling with the meanest and scariest animals in the world.”
Carlito said, “Mean animals that’s all this forest has to offer. I’ve looked the meanest animal in the eye and told him off and I’m still alive to talk about it. I’m not afraid of any animals.”
—Excerpt from The Elephant Princess
A few days after Mel left Cedarview in April 2008, Tammy and I were attending an afternoon party for some friends. In the middle of the celebration we received a panicked phone call from the young woman working with Carly that afternoon. She informed us that Carly had made an accusation of abuse by a staff member. She read us the conversation she had had with Carly throughout the morning, her voice quivering with emotion.
There is no preparation a parent can have to receive news like this. I was numb. And incredulous. Abuse had been one of our worst fears when leaving Carly in a respite program. We had heard the statistics of mistreatment in residential homes but had convinced ourselves that the types of facilities we used were different.
Tammy and I rushed home from our friends’ party to try to get Carly to speak with us directly online. On the drive home, neither of us spoke. We didn’t dare. It wasn’t until we saw Carly’s words appear before us on the computer that we felt the full impact of the accusation. It was a slow, painful conversation. Tammy sat in our kitchen, Carly still at the facility with her therapist. At times minutes would pass as we waited for Carly to respond to Tammy’s questions. We wanted to believe our daughter, but not believe this was possible. Carly had made up stories in the past—a fictitious boyfriend, an Aunt Rita, an attic full of books. But in all of these cases, she conceded that she had lied shortly after. She had a vivid and mature imagination that she flexed to counter the boredom of living at Cedarview.
The story slowly unfolded over the next two hours on instant messaging, with Carly miles and miles from home. I watched, in a gasping state, as if I were watching someone else’s nightmare unfold. As Carly and Tammy spoke online, I paced the kitchen trying to walk away from the wave of panic and nausea. But the consistency in Carly’s report, all the whens and hows, made her accusation impossible to refute. I was paralyzed.
Tammy had the clarity of mind to call Peter, the director of the government agency that funded Carly’s residential program, at home to ask him what we should do. “Let me make it simple,” he said. “With an allegation like this, I am compelled to phone the police immediately. It’s no longer in your hands.”
When Tammy hesitated, struggling with Carly’s past stories and half-truths, Peter calmed her with his decisiveness. It didn’t matter if we later found out that it was not true. When an allegation is made, the law favors the victim. This came with heavy-hearted relief; doing the right thing, either way, felt wrong. The police arrived that evening and we were not allowed to pick Carly up until the next morning. Late into the night, they attempted to question her and the staff that was on duty. With the police there, we knew her to be safe. Carly shut down immediately after the long and tearful discussion with Tammy. Exhausted, depleted, and terrified, Carly sat on a big couch with her therapist in the den at Cedarview, rocking. The officers left, agreeing to meet the next day with Carly, Tammy, and me at the local police station.
Even with a quiet house that night, we were sleepless. Tammy and I lay in bed, whispering so as not to alarm Matthew or Taryn. We broke Carly’s story down into tiny increments, looking for breaks in the logic, praying it might not be true. Did the accused have access to her room at night? Where was the evening staff? Why would this just be coming out now? But why would Carly make this up? By morning it was clear in Tammy’s mind that Carly was being truthful. “It just doesn’t make any sense that she would lie about this. She knows she’s leaving in June. Why would she make this up? And the description she gave . . .” Her voice trailed off.
That afternoon, as Carly recounted her experience, I watched something in my wife die. I bury hurt, but Tammy wears it like a second skin.
I was tortured by the devastation this would bring not only on the individual in question, but on all the staff and residents at Cedarview if her accusations were false. But I had to agree with Tammy. Carly’s past fibs aside, she was neither cruel nor cavalier about others’ feelings. The rest of her life was becoming more positive, not less so. Her voice was getting stronger and her confidence growing. If anything, it made sense that she now had the fortitude to come forward about the abuse she said had been going on for six months.
Early the next morning we phoned the police department near Cedarview. They would continue their investigation, they said, but we needed to try to get a statement from Carly in their presence. It was a rainy, raw Sunday morning and we headed north, playing the situation over and over in our heads, verbally wringing our hands. Carly would be home in Toronto with no support network, no staff, no school. Once again we were drowning in the whirlpool of autism. And now with a trauma to add to her already challenged life.
Carly was driven from Cedarview by two female staff members and we met her there along with Barb, who had driven down from her cottage where she and her husband were spending th
e weekend. We knew we needed all the help we could get if we were hoping to get a meaningful statement. In a dreary room with one-way glass and drab furniture, Barb and the police officers tried for two hours to elicit answers to their questions. Despite best efforts, the stress of the situation won out and Carly was unable to type her statement. Instead, she rolled on the floor crying hysterically until we drove her home.
There was no time to feel the remorse that would ultimately worm its way into my soul. I could take a few days off work to come up with a plan, but by the end of the week we needed to create a new life for Carly in Toronto. After Tammy and Carly came home from seeing the pediatrician the next morning, we got on the phone desperately looking to put together a schedule that would include days, but equally important support for us at night given Carly’s unpredictable sleeping patterns. It was triage. While we knew we’d need to deal with the emotional fallout the abuse would cause, we first needed terra firma. While we were tossing around the logistical hot potato of planning this next phase of Carly’s life, my anger burned—though there was little time for revenge, much less justice.
Autism Resources, the team that managed Carly’s staff and therapy while at respite, jumped into high gear. The founders and directors, a married couple who were both psychologists, also ran a day school for children with autism. Although Carly would be the oldest student, they created space and a program for her beginning the following week. Howard offered to come in the mornings to get Carly to school and in the afternoons to support her at home. This gave him time off during the day to be with his wife and young son. But that still left us weekends and holidays with no coverage. Even though she was thirteen, every moment of Carly’s day required a plan and a backup plan. And we knew then that after this crisis, the Parkdale house—another group facility not so different from Cedarview—would never be home to Carly.
Again, Autism Resources came to our rescue. The cousin of one of the directors was a social worker who also had experience as a foster mother. These days, she mostly took in exchange students living and studying in Toronto for a few months at a time. Darlene had just moved into a large, modern house midway between the Autism Resources school and our house. She was experienced, having worked with young adults suffering from brain trauma. Despite the betrayal we had just experienced, we knew we were unable to live with Carly full-time at home and agreed to experiment with a night or two a week in Darlene’s home. The house was a home; it was close by where we could easily supervise it; there would be no men present.
Carly’s Voice Page 25