So the thing about Rocky Road, is that you're never really clear on what you're putting into your mouth until you start to chew. One minute it is a chunk of almond, the next minute it's a marshmallow. Sometimes you expect to put no effort in, and you are surprised at the change in plans. The next minute, you're expecting to have to expend a little more energy, and you end up falling right through because of the excess force. I don't really like Rocky Road. I prefer Peanut Butter Cup.
With Peanut Butter Cup, it's like this. You know what you're getting, and you hope you can get more. It's occasionally chewy, I mean sometimes you don't get anything of substance, but that's ok, it still tastes good. When you do get something to chew on, you know exactly how much effort it takes, and it's even more enjoyable. But that may just be me.
Such is my life. I prefer things that aren't surprising. I mean, I like certain surprises. I like little gifts for no reason at all, I like getting notes in the mail. I justs don't like having things sneak up on me and cause me to put forth way more effort than I was counting on. I feel like I'm in good company though. I don't know very many people that really thrive on getting blindsided by things.
There's a twist though (I don't like twists either - I like one or the other. Or maybe one AND the other, but not at the same time). People don't ever grow by doing the same thing over and over again. If life is predictable, it becomes monotonous. It can be comforting to have predictability, but that comfort becomes uncomfortable soon enough. Nobody really gets anywhere by having a life that is the same from one day to the next, or has no ups and downs.
Sometimes life just throws you a big ol' chunky nut that you might have a hard time dealing with. The big ol' chunky thing in my life right now is the bowl of unpredictability that has become my relationship with my son. He is in such a hard place. WE are in such a hard place.
Treatment went poorly for nearly two months, and then suddenly, and with the help of anti-depressants, things began to take a turn for the better. For a solid week, he was smiling, he was willing to participate, he was taking things more seriously. And then it happened. He messed up. He did something silly, and they called me to come pick him up. Just like that. He is a "safety risk", they said. In three days, they would determine whether or not he could come back and continue treatment. For the first time ever, it's what my son actually wanted. He wanted to be there, he wanted things to be better.
They said no.
He was thrown from treatment, instantly back into our home with no warning, no preparation time, and no help. It was tough. Really tough. He tried, he really did. He was accommodating, he did a chore or two, he communicated with me. I had to take him to work with me. My husband took a turn taking him to work. But then something happened. I don't even know what it was. Some people call it a relapse, I call it a spiritual attack of huge proportions.
I went on a trip this past Friday with my daughter. It was important to her. It was a school function. We had a great time, until I found out that my son had ran away in the night. He ran away from the home that he was fighting so hard to return to. It made no sense at all to me.
Friday night.
Saturday.
Saturday night.
I returned home at around 5 am on Sunday, and had to call and report my son as missing.
Again.
I. hate. this. I really do. I seeth, I cry, I ball up my fists and I shake with anger and fear. What on earth is going on? I can't even get a grip sometimes. That scares me too. What's going to happen if I lose my mind? What happens if I can't get my heartbeat under control? Sometimes if I cough really hard, it goes back into a proper rhythm. That can't be good. What happens if I fly off the handle to my husband, or my other kids? What if I do something that can't be undone? Or unsaid?
Later that afternoon, he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. I don't know when he got home, or what he had been doing. He was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing. I asked few questions. I got few answers. I felt sick. I was relieved, but I was also really, really pissed off. He grabbed the new clothes that I'd gotten him a few days prior to my trip, and had changed into them. I don't know why I did it, but I insisited that he take them off. As in right here, right now. I didn't feel that he should be coming home to put on new clothes that I had just purchased, with no explanation for where he had been, or with no respect for the household that was working to keep him clothed.
He seemed to think I'd lost my mind, but he stripped in the dining room. He changed into something else, while I went to my room to contact the police and let them know he was at home. I bet they get so annoyed with you, the voice in my head said bitterly. I sent my husband outside to watch the door, as I was feeling very unsure that my son was sticking around. By the time I'd finished my call, I went out and learned that at some point, he had gone again. Nobody even knew how he left the house, but he did.
We spent an hour driving through our streets. Finally, I just quit. I was done. I didn't want to do this anymore, I just wanted to be in my home, in my room, and I wanted to be alone. I even said so... except he left the door open a little bit because I think he worries about me.
This time I didn't tell anyone. I mean, I told the police, but I think that was about it. I'm sick and tired of having to tell people about the stupid crap we're going through. I don't like sympathy. I don't want sympathy. I don't want to cry anymore when people look at me like that. I don't want people telling me what to do, or what I should have done, or offering advice about something they know nothing about. I don't want to be judged. I don't want to be with anyone. But, even worse, I can't be alone.
I'm in a really difficult place right now. I don't even quite know how to explain it. It's sort of a parenting limbo. How do I let go of a sixteen year old? Sixteen years, is simply not enough, Lord. Oh please, oh please, give me more time with him. Give me strength to square my shoulders and stand strong for him, to believe in him, to love him. This grief is sometimes so unbearable that it's painful just to lift the covers off of myself every morning so I can do life. I know you're familiar with this grief. I know you feel the pain of losing your children. Help me to understand how to do this thing. He's not mine. He's yours.
He is not mine. I think that's the marshmallow in my prayer. I do think I'm putting a whole lot of effort into something that I'm just falling right through. I feel like I need to step back, to not try so hard. I need to give it up. I need to let go. Ugh... But he's barely sixteen.
We have few outside offers of help for this boy. Some come with conditions, and rightfully so, and some are with no strings attached. But how do I put him with another family? How do I package up all of my junk, and mail it to someone I love and care about without destroying a relationship that I want to maintain? It feels like regifting.
I'm not even sure why I said that. Regifting isn't such a bad thing. Matter of fact, I've gotten a few very precious gifts that way. My Mother sometimes receives things that she passes on to me, and I love them. She doesn't just dump junk on me either. It's often a valuable thing, that she may or may not actually like, but she knows I'd enjoy it much more. It blesses me. She blesses me. It blesses her to bless me.
Maybe my thinking needs to change. Well, I KNOW it needs to change, because it's a real struggle to keep going the way it's been going. I do believe that I need to just learn to appreciate the textures of the Rocky Road. There's nothing really wrong with it. It's just more challenging. But in the end, you've still enjoyed something very good. I'll keep looking for the good.
