hope

It has never been my intention to infer I have “given up” on my youngest son. Being aware of the severity of his issues does not mean I have left all hope behind. I have to be realistic as to where his head is at. In the end, it doesn’t matter that it isn’t his fault he is as he is. Even the most incompetent of all the professionals admits that if he kills,he will be responsible in the eyes of the law and more important that person he has killed will be dead.
Years ago I knew in my heart my oldest three children had been abused by my ex husband. I wanted to be wrong in the worst way. I wanted to it to be me being melodramatic, blame laying,anything at all but being right.
I was right about my older children. In fact, I had underestimated the depravity of what had been done to them tenfold. What mattered from that point on was finding away for them to heal.
It is the same with my youngest son. I want to be wrong about the severity of his behavior. I want to be over exaggerating the threat he is to my (and other’s life). I want to be melodramatic and perhaps even alarmist. He is very small for thirteen. How could he harbor such thoughts? How could we not handle him at home? Perhaps we really are part of his problem and not helping him at all. Perhaps we are making his issues worse.
All of that goes through my head,our heads, as we ponder what to do. I have done more soul searching and self evaluation since youngest has hit our doorway than I have since my oldest three began to fall apart twenty years ago.
Hope I have in Christ.
Hope that somehow we can make an impact in our son’s life.
Hope that somewhere,somehow someone can find the key to begin his healing.
Hope that if we can’t,he doesn’t follow through on his threats and plans and take a life.
Hope my son can find the strength to face his largest fear- which is being loved.
I cannot will him better. I cannot love him better. I cannot parent him better. I cannot pray him better.
That doesn’t mean I don’t spend my energy over-thinking,loving,parenting and praying for this son.
My husband and I have parented therapeutically for so long it is no longer counter intuitive. It is how we parent.
I cannot make him want to heal. He has to want it himself. He has to want it bad enough to work past his fear. I work very hard to not react to my son’s anger,threats and general stupidity in his choices. I try very hard to keep things factual. I rarely react emotionally. I point out consequences good and bad. I try and give him the power of choice instead of slavery to reaction. I honestly don’t care if he hates me because I am white. He doesn’t though. He hates what I represent. He hates that he can rarely manipulate me.He hates that I am still around telling him he is, in fact, worth loving.
I must see him as he is,though. I am a fool if I take his threats to kill me lightly. I am a fool if I allow him near the grandchildren without very close supervision. I am very worried about those who may come in contact with him once he is “on the free”. Those are rational worries given his thought proccess.
It isn’t how I want it to be. I am willing to turn whatever cartwheel will help my son heal-but not at the expense of the innocent. That isn’t helping anyone,least of all this son.
I want him home.
I am afraid to have him home.
I love him.
I am afraid of him.
I am afraid for him.
I and my husband are giving him all we know. We are loving him unconditionally. But,he can not come home until he is safe.
I can handle the rages,the threats,the manipulation and the hate. I can lock my sharps and alarm doors. I don’t get all that excited about pee and poop. I don’t have to be loved. Our rules are very simple. Our consequences for the most part natural. Our ability to handle the unusual is pretty high.
With all that said,this son is beyond our ability.
If you think that is an easy thing to admit, you are dead wrong.
And you know what? It isn’t fair.
It isn’t fair to my son,to the other children,or to ourselves. It isn’t fair,it isn’t right and I hate it.
It is the truth,however;and the truth,no matter how painful,can and must be dealt with.
We are dealing with it the best we know how.
It sucks.

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About lenell

Wife to a very patient man and mom to 8 interesting kids via birth,marriage and adoption. Grandma to nearly 5,nearly perfect grandchildren.
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One Response to hope

  1. mommasboys says:

    There is always hope. Hope is what gets me through some days and the reason I don’t lay down and cry and not get back up. You can be realistic..you have to be. But there is always hope. Your family is always in my prayers.

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