Shock therapy

I dreamed about Seth tonight. He was in a kind of therapy boot camp and the therapist had taken the kids to an ocean cliff. It was not a terribly high cliff but far too high for my peace of mind.
He told Seth to stand at the edge. He must have thought that it would scare Seth into thinking straight. That when faced with a chance to die, his will to live would kick in.

But Seth looked out at the ocean and he fell forward. He closed his eyes and just let himself go.

And I caught him by his shirt and hauled him with strength I did not know I had, into my arms. And then I held him against my chest like an infant and sobbed. I cried and I cried and kept repeating as I wept," thank God I have you, thank God I have you."

Apparently, having Seth disappear yesterday on his bike- spending over an hour searching, talking to police and then knowing he had gone to buy medication to hurt himself but for some time not having him safe with me- has created a fear that is haunting my sleep.
If only he knew how loved he was. If he had any idea... Has any child ever been loved more? I love that child in a visceral way... He is made of my flesh and bone and I grew him, held him inside of me... Cried when he took his first breath.
If he knew how it would kill me to lose him.
I am so tired... But I am unable to sleep without playing this out in my dreams.
I pray that my unshakable faith will carry us, as it has so many times before. I believe that love never fails. I believe in a God of everyday miracles.
I believe in angels.
I believe my child will live.

16 and will party

On Thursday I took sage to her bi weekly doctor appointment, where we discuss how her ADD medication is working. I was concerned that the latest raise in her CONCERTA dose had not been well tolerated. She seems easily irritated and frustrated. She has been hitting her sister without stopping to take a breath first. Or as I have taught the kids, "take a deep breath and swallow." Her school work has never been better, tho, and we have to try to strike the right balance between school and home. What happens at school affects her at home; what happens at home affects her at school. It is a carefully balanced right rope and in the end, our hope is that she can do just as well as her peers at school, that she can increase her ability to focus enough to read and listen in groups. But she has never been a difficult child. She is not hyper and she is a blessing to be around. I don't want her to suddenly be angry or anxious.
The doctor said that because she is so stressed with the situation here with her eldest and most loved brother, that we cannot know if her new behaviors are linked to the medication or are anxiety related to her brothers depression.

There are never any clear answers. I wish there were. I wish someone could say to me,"do THIS" and having done so, things are suddenly alright again. There is no magic wand. The pediatrician said she did not know how I managed. "I have faith." I answered. And this is true. I am never alone, even when I am most afraid. God is with me every step.
Having said that, I told Seth last night that if he committed suicide, I would wake up every single day for the rest of my life asking "how could you do this to me?" And I would fall asleep asking the same thing. Forever. All of us would. Seth said,"you cannot put that guilt on me." I am not trying to make him feel guilty but I want him to know the impact he will have on us. The sorrow will be all consuming, all day, forever. The "what ifs" and "why" questions would haunt me.

But, last night, he attended a party with friends for the first time in a long time. I kept my fingers crossed, praying he would get through it without scaring anyone and that on this night he could be like every other kid. He sent me pictures from the party and I laughed to see kids sleeping everywhere, piled up on couches and smiles on faces. He asked if he could stay the night and tho I worried and sat up most of the night, I knew I needed to let go and let the magic of friendship try to work. This morning I picked him up and he was stuffed with pancakes and laughing. He asked if we could pick up a friend and again, I whispered my gratitude. This friend was his best friend and had pulled away from him in a big way. He has been so lonely and has felt so judged. Although I am waiting for my mom to arrive and have a million things to do, I agreed to drive twenty miles to pick him up. I hoped we would keep things light but he began joking about his death in the car. His friend told him that he should stick around and achieve something. Seth said that he was thinking he would sky five and do crazy stunts, have a million adventures packed full if adrenaline since the end outcome didn't matter to him. He said that if he survived he would have a thousand stories to tell and if the parachute failed to open- well at least he would have lived.
He started asking questions about whether psychological problems could be fixed and we tAlked about successful competent and even famous people who have recovered and led amazing lives. I told him that even very sick people- like the man who shot president Reagan, are better and walking around.
And that's when he said the one thing I have prayed to hear...
"I think I will give therapy a try." He said.
I wondered if I had heard him correctly.
"You are going to give Sam a chance to help?" I asked. Sam is his brilliant therapist. I have high hopes that Sam can help.
"Yeah." He answered.

So today, he is giving life a chance. He is renting a bike and riding around town with a friend he has missed.

I feel a burst of hope. Today is a good day. And every good day is a GOOD thing.

Thirty days

It sounds like the title of a horror film. What do you do when your child says he will die in thirty days? Yesterday my son told his 9 year old sister, my baby, that he would be gone in thirty days and she was so terrified. She waited until she could talk to me alone and she told me that this was supposed to be a secret, that if she told anyone he said he would do it sooner.
One would think that because of how much he loves her he would not want her scared, he would not do this to her. But he is not thinking in a rational way and he believes that he IS helping her by preparing her for what he says is his inevitable death.
He says fear is ignorance. He is doing what he has to do.

Living with this death sentence is the scariest and most horrifying thing imaginable. I'm not sure I could do it if I was faced with a terminal illness and I wonder how to do it now. The only thing I CAN do is keep him with me and make sure his doctors and case managers know what is going on. I have to trust them with his life. Every one is doing all they can to save him but he feels that someone as sick as he is being told he is ( by friends, by doctors) should not be walking the earth.
Growing up with an autistic brother, he managed that stress by coming to believe that someday he could make a perfect world where there were no developmental diseases or mental illnesses. He would create a better place. That thinking always scared me and I always felt it was a symptom of a bigger problem. At the time, his therapist said it was just a teens way if managing stress. However, now HE is faced with his own imperfection and he is judging himself out of existence. I wonder if he feels like he just can't back down from this principle he always stood by. If he set the bar for everyone then he has to be willing to hold himself accountable to the same standards.
I hope there is a break thru in the next couple weeks. I'm trying so hard to make the most of every day. In the end, he will probably at the very least be hospitalized again this summer and everything I had HOPED to do this summer with him will not happen.
Preparing four children for that is impossible. So much is out of my control. I have to trust god with my family and do everything I can to be the best support to them possible.
Thirty days... How does that feel to my son? What do his thoughts and dreams look like? Is he scared? He says he has a calm acceptance now that he knows what will happen. And to me, that is very frightening.
I don't want to imagine life without him. The world without him. I'm going to do all I can for him.
If he only knew how loved he was.

One day at a time

I had the boy all packed and ready to go back to the hospital this Tuesday. I didn't see how we could avoid it this time. I decided to try to call his new therapist. I had a thin hope that if he could connect with this guy, although he had not seen this counselor for many years, that we could avoid that green mile.
I kept reaching the answering machine and was running out of hope - and time, as school was letting out and the other kids coming home.
S told me that we all needed to prepare ourselves for his death because he just could not live this way anymore. He said he was waiting on a sign from god to tell him if this was the right way. I told him that when we try to test God and when we ask for signs we can never be sure what we see is the answer. Especially when we are hoping for a particular outcome. And I had this horrible fear just then that the wrong song would come on the radio and that would be his sign. That would be his death sentence. I turned off the radio.
We had to stop at the bank and although he was packed and seemed alright with the decision to go to the hospital, I had to make him get it in the car and ride with me. I can't leave him alone right now.
I finished my business at the bank and as I went to leave I looked behind me and there was a local pastor who I knew had the therapist personal cell phone number. That would have been the sign. For me that would have been God reaching out his hand. And I gave him the message and he agreed to call this therapist to see what we could do.
I returned to the car, I told S that this was the miracle we needed. If he was looking for a sign, this was the sign. I do not think he agreed. But just a few moments later my phone rang and I was able to take him immediately to the office. Thank God.
S is able to talk to this therapist in the way he had not talked to anybody in months. And when we left I was told it was safe to take him home.
I'm still getting calls. I received a call from the case manager and from his guidance counselor and neither thought that he was safe to be home. I half expected the school to call the police and have him taken to the emergency room. Waited anxiously for the bus and was so happy to see him step down across the street. Every single minute with him right now is borrowed time.
The only reason he is not in the hospital is because he has expressed a strong desire for camping and hiking this summer. He has plans in the intends to make those plans happen. But he told the school not to expect him to be back in the fall. Out of sheer anxiety I asked our pastor to please meet with me. She had several ideas for me. I don't feel safe that he is not taking his medication and she suggested that I make a deal with him, that he can be home and free this summer if he agrees to get back on his medication. I picked his medication up from the pharmacy and I told him what we needed to do. He agreed. Has been two days now on medication And we agreed that if there was no change in two weeks we would talk over this issue again.
I cherish every single second with my children. Right now I take nothing for granted. He is on my radar at all times, he is in the back of my head every single second of every day. There's not a moment I'm not aware of him. When you have a child who is suicidal, did not sleep well at night. You wonder if you'll be there when you go to wake him up in the party. You wonder about how you will handle it, if you will send the other children to school and pretend everything is okay… And then break down the minute the bus pulls away. You think about things you wish you didn't have to think about. You think about things that nobody should ever have to think about. Not when you have a healthy child, a child who is almost never sick… a Child free of disease.
It is unbearable to see your child in pain and to be unable to comfort him. My child does not want to live. He does not feel worthy of life. He feels that if he is sick, that he has no purpose and he should be gone. He feels no hope. And he has no concept that the pain he was feeling is temporary. There is no Band-Aid for this. I cannot wrap him up in my arms and make him love himself.
But right now nothing else matters. No plans that I might have matter. There is nothing more that I have to do than be a mother. This is the sole purpose of my existence right now and my hope is that if I can get him through the next couple years… He will be okay. I wish I could stress to every other parent I see how valuable every minute is with your child. Nothing else that you might want to do matters. All five of my children need me in ways they have never needed me and may never need me again. What matters is right now. This moment.
I will hang up any phone call, I will stop eating, I will rush home from the most important of meetings if my children need me. There is nothing else.

The palette I work with

It is supremely hard to convince a teenager that there is more to life than the very narrow existence they have led this far. As they exclaim over bullying on Facebook and where they sit during lunch mod, they are not looking to hear "this too shall pass". That in itself is a foreign concept to them. Teenagers live very much in the now. They simply don't BELIEVE that in a few short years what was on their timeline or what went viral on YouTube will be forgotten or just one more thing to chuckle over.
As I try to explain to my son what a gift his life is, he cannot see beyond the pain.
This is a generation used to instant gratification and high def, extreme sports and mind blowing technologies. Mindfulness is not taught- iPad technology IS.
I am grateful to be alive with every jaw dropping sunrise, with every smile, with every lesson learned.
But I am not sixteen.
I explained to my son what an opportunity he has- just by being born. His very birth in the blossoming age of Aquarius is a gift. We are reaching new frontiers every single day. Not only was he born here on earth- honestly the best planet in the galaxy, and stunningly beautiful, ripe for exploration- but he was born in America. He has freedom and wealth and the chance to succeed. He was born healthy- a big plus. He is good looking and intelligent, qualities that when paired with being a white male can get him far ( whether that is right or not-it is the status quo).
So, earth, america, healthy, white and male ... Right there he has the basic palette to create a life and make it whatever he dreams up. Add to that palette that he is loved and not abused, admired and not rejected, conscientious and respectful, spiritual and wise beyond his years.
If he only saw past the surface and could appreciate how amazing these gifts are, he would never seek to throw them away.
There are children digging through city dumps for grains of rice, children born without limbs, abandoned children... Children whose entire life will exist of war, AIDS and starvation.
How blessed we are.
If we wake up every single day grateful, we will feel abundant.
I hope that we teach our children gratitude and show them just how much they have to offer.

The Sharpest Sharpie

Because tomorrow we are all going to visit Seth for the first time as a family, I wanted to bring him something special.  There is a long list of "contraband" items and I have to always go over that list carefully before I bring him gifts.  Food is considered contraband which actually saddens me more than it might other parents.  Seth and I have a ritual cappuccino and danish when I pick him up from school, from a friends house...or lately, when I visit him.  Little routines like that mean a great deal to me and my heart sank when he told me that because the food was so awful at the hospital, to not forget his coffee and danish-and I had to tell him that I could not.
I decided that I would take a big poster board and white t-shirt to the school today at lunch time.  I wanted to have lunch with the kids and I figured that this would be a great thing for Seth.  I want him to know that he is still surrounded by friends.  People still care.  I don't think he will be ostracized because this has happened.   Perhaps in any other school he would be, but not this one.  We have such a remarkable group of kids.  Maybe it's because we live in a small college town.  Maybe it's something in the water.  But the kids here are truly amazing.
I had no idea that when I walked in with a poster and sharpies that there would be such a rush.  I emailed the guidance counselor but missed his return email, which suggested I bring the poster to his office and let kids sign it there to avoid any big distractions at lunch time.  He definitely knew what he was talking about!
First, Isabella's class rushed me.  Forty or so fifth graders signed the front, before I could even get it ready for the high school and Seth's friends.  One child asked this little boy what had happened to Bella's brother and the boy replied that he had tried to commit suicide.  Sharp intake of breath on my part and then a firm denial...and a suggestion that he avoid listening to rumors. I hope that hearing it from me, Seth's mother, will make the rounds and that rumor will be dispelled. All I wanted was to pass out Sharpies...to fill a piece of paper with smiley faces and hearts.  Somehow I thought it would akin to signing a yearbook. Everyone was writing "Get well soon" but, Seth would never understand that. He does not think he is sick. And sick...is sick even the right word? Technicolor GET WELLS all over a poster...and me wondering how to explain any of this when I am more confused than all five hundred of these kids.
And then, a boy of around fifteen came up to me.  He told me that he was really worried about Seth.  First, he said, Jason died.  Jason was their classmate who died in February, very sadly, of brain cancer.  "Jason left and then he died...and now Seth is gone..and I'm worried that he will die, too" he said.  I reassured him that Seth would not die.  That he would be ok.  "Does he have cancer too?" he asked me. And I knew that someone needed to reassure these guys. My God, some of them are wondering if he is going to die! But even if I could make an announcement over the school loud speaker, I wouldnt know what to say! "Please come sign a poster if you miss Seth...and please take note: He is not dying."
Far from dying...he is LIVING. And living is painful sometimes. Living has its highs and its lows...and I hope beyond hope that these kids realize how normal all of their roller coaster emotions really are.  It's all part of the trip.
I was not prepared for the questions.  I was not prepared for those kinds of feelings.  I don't know WHY I did not think about that, first...my mind was really just centered on bringing something hopeful to Seth tomorrow.  I have been consistently worried about his friends, especially his good friends, and I sent a list of names to the guidance counselor so that they could talk to Seth's particular group of friends, reassure them and answer questions.  But there were just so many today that wanted to sign and to ask how he was.
I finally just said that he had had too much high school.  High school overload.  When asked specifically, I said that the blood tests showed his chemicals were just out of whack and we have to get all of that figured out before he can come back.
I am going to have to ask Seth, tomorrow, what he wants me to tell his classmates.  Seth made all of this very public when he threatened his own life on Facebook.  It became a big conversation, at one point sixty comments to one status update.  These days, kids operate in a spotlight.  Nothing is hidden.  They hit "send" before they think about consequences.  But, honestly...I don't even have a diagnosis yet.  He is still being tested.  All we know for sure is that his reality is different than ours.  He is incredibly smart, very deep...and very spiritual.  He has been toying with ideas that most people never even think about, much less base their decisions on.  All of this is complicated and there just is no "pat answer" that I can give a group of kids who are worried about their friend.
I myself am still in shock. Seth had his future mapped out...at least the first few years of his future.  He had goals and he knew what he had to do to reach them.  It was a definite thing, we thought, that his first step would be to join the NAVY and have them pay for college.  It was for sure that he would take flying lessons and become a pilot.  We had plans for the summer.  And then, the universe interfered. It angers me.  Why THIS child? Why MY child? He had his shit together. He was a conservative, well dressed, well mannered and goal oriented kid! And suddenly, out of nowhere...this.
This.
This THING.
This thing that has no name, even now.  I can't predict the future anymore. I don't KNOW what to expect. Every day brings something new to my attention.
But I do believe that this is no different than having a child hospitalized with diabetes or appendicitis...any other kind of illness. My child is in the hospital and he is in pain.  He needs cards and flowers and phone calls and visits.  He needs care.  This was not his fault, or my fault...or anyone's fault. This is a chemical problem, I am told, that the medication is correcting.  And I want him to have friends when he returns-just like any other ill child.  He is still Seth.  He is still my little boy.
I was so glad to have Seth's guidance counselor take over this project today.  I left the school quite numb and shaking.  And grateful, at the same time.  Grateful that so many of those kids wanted to sign his shirt.  So many of them said they missed him and were worried about him.  Perhaps if he knows this and feels it, the way I feel it right now, it will lift his spirits.
Perhaps it will make him fight harder to get out of that place and back here, where he belongs.
In the meantime...I wish someone would give me the right answer.  I wish I knew what to say.
For now, it would sound something like this:
"Thank you so much for caring about my child. I don't KNOW what is wrong, exactly, and I'm not sure how to explain it to you.  I am having a hard time understanding it myself. But, it's good to know he has friends. He misses all of you and will need you when he comes home."

Preoccupied...for the moment

First thing this morning (and barely awake) I drove the 75 miles to meet with a social worker.  I wanted to plead my son's case.  Because the first test they gave him was inconclusive, I still had a chance to work some "mama magic" and hopefully defer any other diagnosis.  My gut tells me that this brilliant child of mine just needs time to work this all out in his head.  He has had to deal with too much stress in the past year.  And, recently saw his entire reality crack when he realized that his Dad was not who he thought he was.  He had held his father up on a pedestal that was completely unreal. And it is easy to be king of a child's world when you only see them for a weekend here and there.  Especially your own child, your son, who WANTS to see the best and can be easily manipulated to look the other way.  When his Dad began visiting him here, at our home, with me as a buffer, he began to see the way things really were and he couldnt deal with the reality.  I know that eventually he can work all of this out but I worry that putting him in a marathon when he is barely standing on his own will break him.
I pled my case and then spent a half hour with Seth.  He wants to put in his written notice that he is requesting a hearing and I asked him to give it a few more days.  He earned full privileges today and can walk around the campus, go to the gym and eat in the dining hall.  This bit of freedom should help him, especially when he needs time to himself.  But after speaking to him, I knew that there was so much more bothering him.
He told me a story about a little girl today.  She had a melt down on the unit and began to cry, to beg the nurses to let her leave. Seth told me that she kept sobbing and saying "I promise to be good, please let me go home. I promise if you let me go home I'll never be bad again. Please, please let me go home to my mommy. I swear, I promise, I won't be bad."  I could see her, in my mind's eye and my heart broke for this child.  Another little boy was running from the nurses and they tried to catch him.  He ran by Seth shrieking down the hall and they eventually caught him. "I think they tazed him" Seth said to me.
"I am sure they probably gave him a shot and that calmed him down quickly" I responded. And I hope that is true but my mother told me that they CAN use tasers if they have to.  On children? I really hope that is not the case.
I asked Seth if he was able to help any of the other children but he said no, he cannot relate to them at all. The social worker told me he hangs back, sits on the couch or in a chair in the corner.  He is not trying to relate to the other kids. I don't think he knows how.  He said it is utter chaos and he sits and tries to handle himself as best he can.  To bear it, he said.  He is just trying to get through it.

So, tonight, I tried to beg off the "move and groove" night at the elementary school.  I felt so drained, so completely exhausted and quite simply just ill after my visit today.  But my eight year old wanted to go so badly and her friends were going to be there.  I can't neglect the other kids and make this any worse for them and as it is, my patience is not functioning the way it normally does.  I am abrupt and distant and trying to be strong for all of us. I'm really not tolerating frustration.  So, we got dressed and grabbed a slice of pizza and I immersed myself in line dancing with Sage and Bella, and their friends. Sage requires a great deal of hands on help to stay focused and I helped her with the games, which involved many steps. Ian had to come to the school an hour early for the rehearsal for the school play, in which he has a lead. Looking at the clock, I knew I had to race outside and wait for Seth to call.  Riley also wanted to speak to Seth.  We hustled to the auditorium so that I could arrange a ride home for Ian and then ran to the car where Riley tried to reach Seth on the cell phone.

When I returned home, there was a text from someone who was at Move and Groove night at the school.  Apparently, she had been talking to one of the girls and I abruptly took my daughters hand and left.  I felt terrible. I did not notice that they were interacting...and I wouldn't be rude to anyone in that way. It is never "me" to be impolite to people.  The last year has been hard and not everyone has understood some of my choices.  Not everyone understands that I am forgetful because of the Subclavian Steal Syndrome, or that the reason my ex husband stays here a night or two a month is because it's the best way for me to supervise his time with Seth.  I feel judged on all sides...and now I am appearing rude to people I would never be rude to.  Aside from this blog, which I hope will reach other parents going through this with their own child, I'm not broadcasting how difficult this entire situation has been for us.  Tonight, I was so preoccupied with thoughts of what was happening seventy five miles away on a locked unit that I may as well have been alone in that room full of a hundred children and their parents.  My heart was elsewhere.  I was seeing children crying, begging for their mothers.  I was seeing little boys race down long hallways only to be restrained when they finally hit a dead end.  And I was seeing Seth, in my mind's eye trying to stay solid, stoic, and sane in the most difficult situation he has ever faced.

I was so happy that I could relax, even for a few moments this evening, and watch my daughters prance around, with balloons stuffed in my bedtime boxers. Wiggling their big butts. Laughing. Being silly.  We watched American Idol and tried for just a bit to be a normal family. My father sent me a text telling me he loved me and reminding me that God is with me, every step of the way.  Carrying me when I cannot walk.  THIS is where my strength lies...in the faith of my parents and the laughter of my children.  It is really tough to keep up appearances and being in the moment, when you are missing one of your children, is a near impossibility.  But I have been reminded...and that is my task for the next few days.  Live in the now.  Enjoy the laughter when it exists.  Be kind to those around me and SEE them instead of looking through them.  I am glad for the lesson, even when the way it's presented to me is a challenge.

Everyday Invincible...and conquering my world one breath at a time.

Burning up the Phone Lines

After dropping my son at the hospital...as relieved as I felt after viewing pictures of the hospital that almost made the place look like Club Med...I threw up. I was in a terrible mood all afternoon and stayed in my room most of the afternoon. Just after I pulled myself together, he called to beg me to get him out. I could hear screaming and general chaos in the background. Suddenly, it became very clear to me why they do not let parents visit the unit.  Nobody would leave their child there if they knew how bad it could get.

Today, I began the day by calling the Mental Hygiene legal experts.  The news was not good. Four doctors recommended my son's transfer.  All of them worried that he was not ready...not safe.  And yet, he is nothing like the other children on the unit.  Most of them appear to be severely autistic.  Why are there no options for kids like MINE? If you cannot afford the thousands and thousands of dollars a private hospital charges...you are left with very little. The most I could do today was advocate on his behalf.  I called St.James, the local hospital he was transferred from.  I begged them to call Elmira and plead for privileges ..anything that would make it possible for him to get away from the chaos when he felt that he needed to.  They operate on a point system and because Seth has not been there more than a day, he has not earned enough points to go to the "fitness center" or even the dining hall.  He is stuck in an environment unlike anything he has ever seen.  They assured me that he was where he needed to be and told me how I could reassure him.  I don't think ANYthing I say will reassure him, certainly nothing less than "pack your bags, I'm coming to get you".
I finally was able to speak to his social worker. I told her to picture your All American boy.  Sports teams, AP classes, composes music on the piano, a wonderful big brother. The kind of kid that other parents WISH they had.  He's a fantastic, smart kid.  Right now, he has had his reality shattered and needs to get back on his feet but he is NOT out of his head disturbed.  I worry that this WILL make him disturbed! I worry about the affect just a few days in this place will have on him.  One thing is for sure...he will NEVER say another crazy thing in his life (hopefully) after being exposed to the worst of the worst.  Hopefully he will come out grateful for his life, his sanity, his family. His freedom.  But on the other hand...what if this scares him so much that when he really does need help he won't ask for it? What if he becomes afraid that telling the truth will result in him being locked in a nightmare?
I was up all night. So many scenarios went through my head.  Finally, I bought some Advil PM just to catch a bit of sleep. I think about him constantly.  I'm distracted or on the phone all the time and the younger kids have taken to yelling and fighting out of nowhere the minute they see me on the phone.  And therefore, it's very obvious to me that they resent all of the attention being focused on their older brother and need some on themselves.  It's very, very hard for me to be in the present when my mind is with him.  This afternoon, I did some online drawing classes with the girls and we all watched Survivor as a family and ate ice cream.  I think they really appreciated that time together.  I felt guilty for not calling Seth.  I felt like eating ice cream when he is eating bland food that is delivered to him on a hospital tray was a guilty pleasure.  And I replay so many t hings that have happened and try to learn from them, so I don't make the same mistakes with the other children.  Four doctors have told me there is no blame.  They have said to me over and over again that this is an organic, biological, chemical problem.  It does not take away the regret.
I told the Social Worker that I was worried for him and that someone there needed to be his advocate and make sure he knew where he could go when he needed to relax. They have prescribed him anti anxiety medication but he has never taken it and won't ask for it.  And he worries that if he DOES ask for it, that they will just write down that he was anxious and it will be another strike against him.  He needs to be here, with his family and his friends, with everyone who loves him.  And I know that they tell me I can't keep him safe and that this is for the best...but there has to be another way.
Tomorrow I am leaving at 8am and driving to the hospital to meet with the Social Worker. She seemed surprised that I was willing to come at any time, with a moments notice.  I have to wonder what she is used to dealing with. Wouldnt any mother drop everything to come, if it meant her child could be home sooner?  Am I that different from other parents that just accept what has happened and carry on with their lives? I feel like a piece of my SOUL is missing.  There is nothing I would not do to make him well and have him with us.  I am so grateful for the good in my child.  I'm grateful he is not one of the children screaming in the background when he calls me.  I'm so utterly and completely thankful he is not the little boy in the room next door who spends his day banging his head on the wall and I pray for those parents and for that little boy.  I'm proud that my son was not one of the kids stealing the keys from their teacher at the hospital today.  He has not lunged at anyone or tried to choke them.
I will pray for those who have to cope with such things...but pain and regret and loss are all relative and as grateful as I am for what I have, I feel this immense sense of loss and helplessness.  I have a beautiful boy and he is not with us tonight.  And I pray for him as well.

The long drive to admissions

I am following the ambulance. The ambulance has chains under it and I can hear them clanking on the highway as we passed cars and drive over the speed limit on our way to the hospital. Everything is a crystal clear focus, church bells ringing in town, bright green lights, bright red lights to give me a little bit of time to try to see him in the window of the ambulance. They brought him out tied to a stretcher and I wanted to reach out and feel his fore head for fever. It seems so odd to see him on the stretcher that way. The ambulance is red with yellow stripes on the back and it says advanced life support. I'm trying to think of this is saving his life. It isn't easy when I want so badly to bring him home.
I have a child who is autistic and somehow I always pictured this sort of journey with him. Yet we have been so strong and we've avoided this the entire way with him.
Passing the airport I see a plane land and think of his plan to be a NAVY pilot. Passing the mall I want to buy him a new EXPRESS sweater .
So so hard.

Soccer socks and AXE

Seth called from the hospital and needed his gym clothes and shoes from the boys locker room at school. At first I panicked. It's the only thing he has asked for. He has gained eleven pounds in 20 days and knowing this new hospital has a fitness center has him sounding almost chipper. A little hope goes a long way.
I called him and he guided me through heretofore forbidden territory. The locker room smelled like sweat, socks and AXE. Luckily I found what he needed.
But even this success brings tears to my eyes. These are his track shoes and track season starts this week. Instead of running with his team, he is taking his shoes to a hospital. I'm emptying his locker, but not for a bus ride to State Finals... It is a sad, lost feeling.
I'm so happy to accomplish this one thing. Anything I can do to mother him gives me joy. I am not sure how I will be a strong support to him when he is so far but tonight, thankfully I was here at school for my other child's rehearsal and can do this for him.
I am still dreading the drive tomorrow. Even though I signed the paper for his transfer, for some reason (because he is a minor) it is still considered an involuntary admission. I hope like hell he won't be there long.

Expectations

My son has been in the hospital for fifteen days. After the initial shock of admitting and testing, learning about different diagnoses and beginning medication I felt that it was important to share this journey. How many other parents are there going through this? There are so many feelings when your child is admitted to a psychiatric unit. Confusion,blame,regret,hope,failure,hope..failure again...It is such a roller coaster of emotions. Every day brings something new.

We were preparing for my sixteen year old to come home when he relapsed and had to begin discussing his transfer to a longer term facility. Are there words to express how that feels? Is there anything I would not give to stop this from happening?

This is my oldest child. My son. We were just at a NAVY recruiter planning his future. Discussing colleges. Buying goggles for the swim team and planning on track season. Those are dreams that will take time to adjust but dreams that I won't give up on. Some things will have to change now, that is a certainty. But dreams die hard. There is a "letting go" involved here and it is harder for some than for others.

Many people noticed my son changing. He was not the kid he had always been. He was overly focused on the metaphysical to the point where all else was excluded. He wanted black out curtains on his windows-I thought to better focus on schoolwork-but it was really to shut out anything that could distract him from this new world he was creating for himself. He began to think of himself as a messiah. And nothing anyone said, no matter how logical or practical our words were, could make a difference. It was a complete helplessness. I began to make every effort I could to make him happy. I eased up on his chores. I stopped badgering him about homework. When he said that he thought a new living room couch and having the house fixed up would make him feel better- we did it. When he wanted a new room, space to himself- we made it happen. When he wanted new clothes and a hair cut and we thought that would boost his self esteem and make him feel more confident-we bought Galliano jeans and Express sweaters. There was nothing we were not willing to try if it would make him want to live. But these were all band aids. The real issue was happening in a place that could not be reached by us. All the love in the world was not going to fix it.

He had posted his ideology, his manifesto as it were, on Facebook. He was going downhill in a very public forum. There was no way to "hide" what was happening. Everyone was noticing, across the board. And our lives were changing as we sought ways to adapt and took any measures possible to help center our child. We are blessed to live in a community that is very close and very supportive. His guidance counselor visits him and his friends send cards and letters. Our local pastor, whose church we did not even attend, began visiting him a few days a week. His siblings drew him pictures and made picture albums to remind him of the happy times we had, and could still have MORE of. His father and I, separated for eight years, have tried to work together as a team to the best of our abilities and this has not always been easy. But it is best for our child. There is tension, blame to be passed around...and then acceptance to be found.

Today, we meet with his doctor and therapists to go over his test results. We will find out what the next step is. I have had to take every day as it comes and more than than, live in the moment as completely as I ever have. I had to be reminded that I had tickets to a musical with my other son, tickets I had had for months and was so excited about when I bought them. Something like a musical or a day out just falls under the radar when one of your children is in need. Yet, my other four children need me more than they ever have and I spread myself thin attempting to make everyone as happy as I can.

I want to HOLD my child. I want to take him back to infancy and do everything over again. I want to micro manage this situation and make all of the decisions myself. I see him progressing and want him home but am told he is not ready. When I see him staring out the window, wishing for some fresh air and normalcy I want to give it to him and yet, this is out of my hands. There is nothing I can do...but love him.

We have so many hopes and dreams for our children. And we do our very best. But, we can only accept what comes on a day by day basis. Perhaps, by sharing our journey, I can help someone else. He is already taking this chance to help kids he meets on the unit. Perhaps there is a silver lining and I just have to search for it. If anything, I am more focused and attentive to how every little thing I do affects my children. I am told that there is nothing I could have done to prevent this. I have gone over it a million times, and I am sure I will again and again...but the truth is that this illness is not something I could have stopped. We caught this as early as we could and are doing everything in our power to empower him and love him...and help him grow into wholeness. Every decision we make as parents has a consequence. I have to decide, today, what the next step will be and much of that is out of my hands.

Letting go, and loving. Lessons I thought I had learned. Loving my child for who he is, no matter what that means...a lesson worth learning.