Ripping my Heart Out

The headline is: the tests are in and The Captain was recommended for a residential treatment for his addiction. It is not what he was hoping for, which is heart breaking, but probably what is needed. 

I grew up in a small community in which alcoholism was endemic. Thus, I've been fortunate to grow up in a context in which people with addictions are understood and cared for but not judged. I am grateful to have been spared the susceptibility to that particular struggle and so I have spent the summer educating myself about the nature of addiction. Let me say, though, in brutal honesty, sex addition is not something people want to talk about. A lot of people don't believe it's a real thing and social mores don't allow open and honest conversation around anything so scary. 

So here I am, Mom to a kid a year from being a legal adult, and hoping with all my heart that there truly is a cure for his addiction. Because I am here to tell you, it's a real thing. My greatest fear is that he will not get better and wind up in big prison. What I am less sure about is if this kid will be able to let go and get better because the one thing I've learned in my summer of research is this: the addicted person has to want to let go of the addiction. We need something akin to a miracle here. 

Years ago when had just adopted our first baby, I had read one million parenting books. Okay, I'm exaggerating. Adoption takes a while, so I read 8 or 9 parenting books. My sister-in-law, best bud, and work mate, Sharon, would occasionally try to give me advice. So she would say something and I'd reply "well, yes, but research says . . . (blah blah blah)."  

Then she would laugh and say, "Oh yes, I forgot, you're a BOOK parent. You have the manual. You'll be okay."  Which after you've been a parent six months you realize is a joke because obviously, there is no manual! I did eventually calm down and start taking people's advice, just so you know. It was truly heartbreaking that Sharon, who was my soulmate, died when my oldest two were only 8 and 6 and I never really got to capitalize on all her parenting experience. However, her hand is on the rudder at times like today. 

I started writing this at 4:30 AM after a very fitful night. Our boy called last night, pretty frantic. On Saturday, when I'd seen him, he'd been sad, but fairly calm. Now the panic is setting in. I've seen this in friends who are headed to rehab. There is real fear in having to let go of something that literally takes up your whole life. So my night was hard because even when it's best, we don't want our kids to suffer. We know they have to do that suffering themselves but we would love to take it for them if we could. 

Send The Captain your good thoughts, your prayers, your love, and your warrior arrows -- he needs it all. It's going to take every outpouring of good will toward him to shore him up. Later he will probably be able to get snail mail and if that happens, I'll let you know how I can give you the details. For now, we'll have to trust the heart space to deliver; it's trustworthy.

I'm a little worried that the details are not ironed out yet. The juvenile justice system lacks in the way of communication but we will find out more today. We have a hearing and the judge will rule if he will for certain go to residential treatment. If so, the next few days are going to be very hard on him. Watching my child go through this is ripping my heart out. 

I'll do it though, because I know I can. "I've got 'the manual', I'll be okay!"  We all will. 

The Sound of Bells

 Last night I had a very confusing dream that melded many parts of my life together, as dreams do, but in the end, sent me a messenger. I really appreciated it. Sometimes I need the clairvoyant wake up call. 

On first waking, I'm vulnerable to memories that are more subconscious than most. I love that state of semi-awake-ness because it's fertile ground for self-awareness. Anyway, this morning I had a flashback to 12 or even 13 years ago when the "Littles" really were little. I was waiting for our appointment with the attachment therapist with one of them when I ran into a couple I was acquainted with from homeschooling circles with their adopted-from-foster-care children.

This family was a lot further along the parenting journey than we were. At that time, our oldest was 13 and their oldest was 15. They had 4 kids, I think, stretched along a big spectrum of age, but all siblings. I think the two older were teens and the two younger were middle elementary. They were dealing with a lot of vexing issues with these kids: sexual issues, legal issues, theft, hoarding, toileting, social problems, emotional issues, behavior, learning differences. They were a little jaded on that particular day, but frank and open. 

What I remember most was hearing them talk about all they'd been through in the preceding couple of years and thinking, "How do they cope with all this?" Meanwhile, it my own head, warning bells rang. I knew full well that little boy sitting NEXT to me, who wouldn't sit on my lap if I PAID him, who'd never been attached to anyone in his three years of life, was in a bad way. Clang, clang, clang. 

I did what any sane person would do. I tried to shut up those bells. I leaned over to that beautiful boy, touched him on the nose, and started singing our "together" song: "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, what a special boy you are!" Clang, clang, clang. 

I lost touch with that family because my new life as Mother-to-five didn't allow much time with the group in which our paths had crossed initially. I could use their expertise today! 

Fast forward 13 years, we are in the throes of our 2nd juvenile legal issue. I sat in the Juvenile Justice Center a few weeks ago unable to feel upset. Some poor mom beside me was bawling her eyes out and I'm just cool as a cucumber. A few years before, I'd been in her shoes but the second time around, it's just not as upsetting. Weirdly, what upset me later, was that we KNEW the probation supervisor when she came out to speak to us. NO one wants to be the parent who already knows the person in charge of working with juveniles who have committed crimes. Clang, clang, clang.

I was driving home, unreasonably mad at my child, and silent as a crypt. Finally, child asks, "why are you mad at me?"  I told them. "I'm mad because I don't want to BE the parent who knows the probation officer."  It wasn't reasonable. I admitted it and let it go. It was a tough road though because this kid was supposed to go on the spring break cruise with me and now can't leave the county for six months. Clunk.

One of the kids has just been identified with ED, (Emotional Disturbance) and by the end of the year, will be placed in Focus Classes in high school. I'm relieved, I think they need the help. They get in so much trouble for their impulsive words and their remorse later is real. If we can help them learn to curb this, it may actually be life-changing for them. One of the other kids' case managers mentioned that testing for that second child. I'm wondering. 

Just know, back when we first started adoption and again when we got into foster care, we read the books. We attended the classes. We knew the statistics. We did the attachment training. Our kids have have more counseling at their young age than most entire families have in a lifetime. We just somehow still didn't think it would happen to OUR kids because we believed -- as all adoptive parents must -- that love is enough.  

And it is enough. Love is enough . . enough to get you through the next day or the next crisis or the next celebration. 

The Captain just turned 16! He worked hard to bring his grades up with only a little help from us and now he's eligible for the HS baseball and plays in his first official game this week! So there you go.

Come on, ring those bells!