December 13, 2017.
He is set for official discharge.
Our therapy session ended today with him telling us “I won’t be home long”.
I can’t argue with that. I have learned the hard way that there is literally nothing I can do to make him stay. So I answer from the newly created space in my brain “Okay. I hope you can enjoy your time while you are home.” His reply is silence and then a flash of words meant to cause me pain, “So you don’t want me to stay. You just want me to visit and then go back?”
Before I can react emotionally, the new place in my brain responds without hesitation “I bought you some new jeans and those soft long sleeve shirts you like. I put them in your dresser last night.”
Silence, then more silence. As I am about to speak before I should, he makes a half hearted attempt to encite again. “You just don’t care and you are done with me and I don’t want to come back at all.”
Your turn, your turn my brain screams. It’s your turn to respond. Literally out of nowhere comes the freakin song from Vanilla Ice, and all I hear in my brain is “Stop, collaborate, and listen.” People my mind has been worked hard in therapy the last two months. I started out the gate running and then this , this is what my brain gives me.
So, Vanilla Ice spoke to my son. “Listen (son) we need to work together during therapy and you ARE coming home so I will listen to whatever you need to tell me.”
I work for two months on 2-3 times weekly therapy and a disgraced rapper saves our therapy session.
We have received the phone call that lets us know that medicaid has decided that our son is “well enough” to come back.
He has not met a single therapy goal but has not tried to kill himself or anyone else in 3 weeks so he no longer requires residential treatment.
The insanity carousel just keeps going round and round and the same song keeps playing. It’s only rider knows how to get a never ending supply of tickets.
Sometimes he lets us ride with him for a week or two, but soon he is holding back his tickets and rides alone once again.
Our son is coming back, but he is not coming home. He will cycle through our house like a tornado and then disappear again and again. All we can do is batten down the hatches and pray that the tornado only harms our hearts and does not destroy itself.
Patience is learning that what will be cannot be controlled, only mitigated.
It has been a long while since I have posted about my son. He is still at the Coastal Harbor Psychiatric Residential Treatment Facicilty in Savannah, GA. As he always does in residential care he is doing wonderfully. He thrives on; the down to the minute constant structure of his day, the 24 hour round the clock care, never having to attach or become emotionally involved with the constant change of personnel or kids, and the constant individual attention.
I have been seeing my psychologist several times a week traveling the road of grieving for the living. Trying hard to create new spaces in my brain to accept the loss of motherhood for my son. I am working to accept the hard truths of the last 2 years.
He doesn’t want or need a mother, he needs a caregiver. He doesn’t want or need my concern for his future he needs food, shelter, and affection on his terms. My mothering love that has been essential to all of my other children is smothering my son, he needs me to be supportive and affectionate but to keep my distance.
So I am working hard to learn how to be my son’s caregiver and not his mother. My needs must be closed off as I work to keep this kiddo alive. For whatever the universe’s reason my son does not want to live as part of a family. So we will have to learn to be just the family that cares for him.