It was a regular day. We stopped in for dinner with my son, expecting to stay for a group session. He was visibly surprised to see us. I was happy to be there. My husband was out of town that week, which meant I was more inclined to bring our other son along for some moral support. It's a fine line, this thing with my younger boy, knowing how prone he is to feeling like he needs to support and protect others, but yet not constantly putting him situations where he will feel the need to protect ME.
I brought him mostly because his involvement in his brothers recovery is important. I had no idea how important he would be for MY recovery until an hour later.
Dinner was pretty basic, and cleanup seemed to take forever, so we escaped to the living room, as is common for visiting families to do. Typically we get a little privacy to visit, but that wasn't happening this time. We were sharing the room with another client who was half-heartedly reading his book between making comments to us.
Talking to my son seemed arduous. He wasn't willing to make normal conversation, and I have to be very careful how I place my words. I can't say normal things, like, "Hey, how are you feeling today?" The answer is always the same: "shitty." I try to ask leading questions, but typically get only a little ways before he decides to say something to upset me or ask when I'm getting him out of there.
I'm used to hearing upsetting things. I'm sure I can say that with 100% certainly that I could relate on some level to a mother of a Tourette's child. The kind that words burst forth before they can be stopped. Words that are foul, startling and offensive. I've heard them all, so I have much practice in remaining unphased when these words burst forth from my otherwise gentle child.
I know he wants a reaction, and it bothers him to get none. I continue on, asking questions and offering comments. I was not pleased to learn that he had been issued FIVE referrals. And on just that single day. He seemed proud to announce that to me. Something was not right. The Sunday prior, I picked him up on a day pass, which was part of our plan for integrating him back in to the household. He's had three. The other part of the plan is that he remain free of referrals. He can't go out on pass with referrals, especially the kind that he gets for intentionally causing problems. His next pass was to be his first overnight, and a day at the beach. He was clearly not going to get that pass. We were clearly not going to go with him to the beach. This sets us back yet another week.
Everyone's ultimate goal is for our son to exit treatment as a healthier, stronger person. I'm certain his goal is to just leave. The fact that he continues to sabotage the whole process makes me really believe that we've got lots more work to do. He seems entrenched in a depression and its clouding his progress and his self-worth.
I am fairly sure that it was about the time I said that we really needed him to keep himself in check so that he could come home, that he expressed for the first time, that he'd rather just stay there. I'm also fairly certain that the fracturing of my heart was audible. He wasn't asking to come home, he was just asking to get out.
Through emotions held back by the Hoover Dam, I asked for clarification. He expressed that things at home still pretty much suck, and that people still argue, so he'd rather be where he's at than at home. "Nobody has changed anything", he said. "People still yell, my room is still messy. You aren't supporting me at all."
Oh my dear boy, how wrong you are. There has been significant change at home, but he has not witnessed it. What's unfortunate, is that the only times he IS home, is when it's very stressful because he acts out the entire time. No wonder he believes nobody else has changed, because he won't. We are a loud family, yet we've all taken steps to lower the volume because he's so sensitive to it. We're loud when we're happy and loud when we're mad. This family is taking responsibility for things like never before. We are owning up to mistakes made, making amends, offering forgiveness. It's actually been great - but now he's really causing me to believe it's not enough. That we are not enough. I mentioned that to him, but he couldn't see it. So cloudy, this murky fog. It's sucking me right in.
The moment I realized that I needed to leave crept in and over me before I could even properly verbalize it. The attitude, the lack of effort, the broken promises... I just stood up. I couldn't face this for one more second. I felt disgusted. I was not going to get emotional, because this battle was simply about that. How soon could he tear me down and make me feel just like him? Well it wasn't happening today. I looked at my younger boy, who had been trying so hard not to punch his brother in the face, and I told him we were leaving. That I wasn't going to agree to listen to these untruths any longer.
Both boys looked very puzzled. I mean you can't just leave before group session. I ushered my youngest out the door to the foyer, then looked back to a pained look on my hurting boy's face that cut me like a knife. "Well BYE then", he said as he tried to keep his own composure. "Bye Son, I'll see you in a few days."
I was halfway to the car before the tears forced themselves out of my eyes. I'm familiar with this, I know the routine. Time to assume the look: The Mom, leaving the rehab facility that is holding her precious boy, shoulders slumped in defeat, hands shaky from adrenaline, tears free falling, sunglasses up! Keys in hand! Car open, get in, close the door and let it all go. Except this time I couldn't.
Why God chose to bless my youngest with the ability to sense discomfort and to bring forth wise words, words beyond his years, I will never know. But the fact that He did, is a great blessing to
Me. My boy didn't wait. He was telling me it was ok to feel upset even before I got the door closed. I was holding back so many more tears that I thought I might choke on them. How can I turn this into a positive?? I kept thinking.
"Mom, you know, it's ok at home right? It's not us. What's going on here, is that satan is trying to get at you right now. He is getting at you through those things my brother says. He doesn't really mean those things, it's all the devil."
How on earth could I feel defeated even one more second? The kid was right, he IS right. To hell with you, satan. No, really. Just go.
I let the tears fall as I acknowledged the beautiful truth of my sons words. I was crying because I was sad, I was proud, I was hurt, but I was healing. We positively enjoyed the best scoop of ice cream ever that evening.
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