divinewrites

” This time no one’s gonna say goodbye
I keep you in this heart of mine
This time I know it’s never over
No matter who or what I am
I’ll carry where we all began
This time that we had, I will hold forever” Criss Darren Everett

These lyrics came back to me yesterday, on my son’s 18th birthday-as he stands on the precipice of a new chapter beginning in a few months, I felt all the feels at his most recent med check appointment with his psych Dr. My son signed off on a medical release which allows his father and I the right to still be involved in his care as he moves into adulthood. It was a bittersweet moment as I sat, listening and planning my son’s future-a future where I can no longer call the shots-a future where I loosen control and see if he can fly.

I am terrified. I am terrified to let go-terrified to loosen a grip-terrified to step back, and terrified to feel. For the last 18 years a little boy has depended on me to supply so many of his needs and as he ages these instances he needs me are fewer, but are more important- they are bigger. For the past 12 years, since the summer he was 6 years old and my deepest feared suspicions were confirmed, I have lived and breathed in the midst of what is best for him-his needs and his future.

I remember clearly the moment when I knew something was amiss-I knew that my son was hurting in ways that I could not reach. Something had gone terribly wrong at his summer care environment-so wrong that I had to file a report at the behest of mandatory reporters-so wrong that, to this day, he cannot remember, and that’s ok. At the height of the most turmoil, he snapped. His anger, hurt, and rage spewed forth in a temper tantrum of mammoth proportions. At one point I peeled him off the wall as he climbed up to tear down the blinds in his room and wrapped him in my arms. Stumbling backward toward his bed, I held him as he growled at me, hit me as hard as he could, and screamed obscenities. As I held him, with his back against my chest, he pulled his head forward, reared back, and threw his head backward, square in my face. He heard the thud and saw the blood from my nose on my arm and he laughed a low, guttural sneer of derision. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, rocked him back and forth, and sang quietly to him. His body was so rigid, hot, and sweat covered-and slowly relaxed into my arms. Mocking gave way to soft sobs as the energy drained from him-I knew. I knew my son needed help that I could not provide.

Weeks later the long road to tests, appointments, and questions began. It culminated in the moment that my baby boy, 6 years old, took off after his father because the DVR had cut off part of a program without him being able to watch the ending-moments later he stood in my bathroom, laughing over a container of pudding-and a spoon.

I loaded him in a borrowed jeep-braved some treacherous weather and walked him into the admittance floor of Avera Behavioral. A week later, a triple diagnosis and then some was reached-the ADHD was obvious-the cycling mood and TIC disorder co-morphed with high generalized anxiety added to an emotional cocktail of crap. This is the first time I have ever typed that it was a complete cocktail of crap–it sucked- it still does. I remember that week so distinctly-I remember him calling me in tears because his floor was watching Old Yeller and he couldn’t take the heartache.

My baby, my first grader, embarked on a med journey that was a roller coaster of stops and starts-of iep meetings and accommodations, of countless emotional outbursts, and dreams dashed. He had wanted, from Day 1, to serve in the Air Force and fly the planes. It was all he talked about-his nearly savant like memory could (and still can) recall every detail of every fighter plane, book, documentary, and article and he had to let that go-and I had to watch him do so.

I watched as classmates called him every name in the book-listened to his anguish as locker partners kicked his books down the hall and laughed as he crawled to pick them up- heard others tell him he was unwanted-weird, that he didn’t belong-and that the world and his school would be a better place if he were not in it. The emotions rose to the surface so many times-and there were instances when I intercepted veiled and obvious threats which meant additional trips to his counselor. No one knew the nights I sat outside his door-listening to the sound of silence, no one knew how many times I snuck into his room to check to make sure he was still breathing-making sure that none of the tears that stung just behind my eyes landed on his pillow or his cheek as I leaned down to hold him every hour. No one knew the prayers I uttered.

And, no one knew the rage that I fostered in my own heart-rage fueled by guilt, fear, and regret. I wanted my healthy, vibrant, engaging little boy that had captured my heart the moment he locked eyes on mine, seconds after he was born. And, there were times that my rage got the better of me-when words spewed forth like so much verbal vomit unleashing the venom at these diseases and its impacts on his life. I wanted so much more for him. I still do.

There were so so so many times that I didn’t know if we would get him through-I didn’t know if the meds, the counseling sessions, the outpourings of love would be enough. I didn’t know as we sat through meeting after meeting, whether the grades would be there-if the scores would reflect his ability-if college was even a possibility.

And yet–he did it! 18 and yesterday on his birthday he sat opposite his psych Dr., the same one who has been with us since the beginning-called him on some of his crap and held him accountable. He placed the ball in my son’s court and challenged him to get his head out of his ass. He’s gone to Prom-qualified for Nationals in Speech events multiple times, is the go-to percussionist on the school’s drum set. Now I watch as he drives back into town to pick up his girlfriend, clad in outfits that he chooses complete with a black fedora and a smile. I marveled at his poise when, on his birthday, he toured the university he will attend in a few short months and met the highest leadership people on campus. He was confident, articulate, engaging, and real-he was my Bug. I choked back tears most of the day, observing my baby boy walk into manhood right before my eyes as he caught a glimpse of a future awaiting him. All of this exists as I gaze at above picture-taken just before we went in for his last and first med check appointment-his last boy and his first adult visit simultaneously. And, I am proud of my son.

And yet, I continue to choke back sobs as I bat down the fear that eats at my guts-fear that I have not done enough, that I have not prepared him for the next chapter, that I have not filled his toolbox with enough tools to do the job. I choke back regret for words and fights where I could have damaged his psyche in ways from which he would not recover-I choke back my own impatience-my loss of dreams for him-for the anger at having to accept my baby boy’s condition as lifelong- he will always have to take meds-he will always battle the demons, the statics, the interferences, and the lapses in observation and emotion. I can’t take any of it away-and that hurts something terrible. I want to give him the world and I can’t. I want to restore to him the dreams he’s put away, to rewind the clock and give him the friendships, party invitations, and connections that could have been his-but I can’t. And accepting that is so so hard-and relinquishing the reigns to him is doubly difficult. But, I have to have faith in this wonder boy of mine-and he is, wonder-filled.

I have to have faith that he is in the right place at the right time doing the next right thing. I have to believe in the work we’ve done and his own tenacity to carry him through to the next chapter. I have to let go-and that, well, those words are the toughest ones to write-and to see on the screen as I swipe at the tears I don’t want to fall. Luna, the cat, just heard me sniff and hopped down off her perch to stand on the couch next to me and trill- I think she knows. Because in the midst of all this wonder and goodness-I feel alone-and small and scared and hopeful and confused and a little like a piece of me is disappearing and I don’t know what to do. I feel old and a little girl all at once with no real answers to the pile of questions on my heart.

As I look at the lyrics above, my son, his smile, his heart, his spirit fills my mind-I know that I will carry these experiences for a lifetime and that they have shaped the woman I am today in countless ways- Never in my dreams did I think I would parent a special needs child-one so gifted and conflicted at the same time-Never did I think I could do it- but here we are-

With his 18 and LIFE to go…..(the journey continues)