I sat in a chair across from my oldest son and watched him hang his head in his hands. This was the second time in two days that I was able to see him. As broken as I feel, I think he's feeling worse. He looked right in my eyes and said he wants to come home. He misses home. He misses his siblings. He misses me.
My arms ached to hold him. To go back in time and have him be small enough to climb into my lap. To be able to tell him that it is all going to be okay.
They still ache now.
And I cannot lie.
Nothing about this is okay. Nothing.
Yesterday Tim and I met with a social worker and one of the psychiatrists treating Isaiah. They confirmed what we already new, he is an amazing kid. Smart. Gifted. Charming. And ill.
And they also told us that he needs residential treatment. Treatment that we can't afford. Treatment that may require us to relinquish custody of our son to the state in order to get.
Tim and I held it together until that moment.
And then I could not. I can't even. As broken as I felt Friday, yesterday was worse. Today is worse.
I sat across from him tonight, and I told him that his dad and I would ALWAYS be there for him. No matter what.
I did not mention that may be a court hearing. And we may have to turn him over to the state in order to get the treatment that he needs. I did not tell him, because I looked at his eyes. I saw my own brokenness reflected back. I saw all the good that he is capable of, and all the fear of what is uncertain.
I could not tell him.
He asked for his geometry book (which, frankly, is a miracle in and of itself). I promised to bring it tomorrow. He asked for a family photo. For pictures of his siblings and his parents.
And I just couldn't tell him.
Last night I talked to one of my dearest friends on the phone. I shared my heart with her. My fears. My failures. My dreams and hopes for my oldest son. And I wept. And she let me.
This is such a crooked path on this journey. I can't see around the corners. I don't know which way to turn. I'm standing at a fork in the road, and I just don't know. Do I have any fight left?
It is surreal.
I know what we must do. My head knows. My heart has not caught up.
This morning Tim and Isaac called me while I was driving to work. They have devotions together every morning, and today, they wanted to include me.
The lesson was about faith and prayer and uncertainty in prayer when you don't know if you'll get what you want. We talked to Isaac about how we've been praying his brother and him since they showed up in that purple chevy malibu with two social workers. How we've been praying for Isaiah to be healed and make progress. We told him that this is an answer to that prayer. Even if it isn't what we imagined it would look like.
Even if it is NOTHING like we imagined. If Isaiah gets the help he so desperately needs, then it is an answer.
Isaac and Esther-Faith seem to be coping well. Esther-Faith has had a couple of rough (weepy) days at school, and tonight she cried when she realized Isaiah wouldn't be here tomorrow for her "China-themed" birthday party.
Isaac has been somber, but mature when we talk to him. He as revealed how safe he feels and he has started to let his wickedly funny personality shine a little bit more. It is especially fun to watch Tim and Isaac banter in ways they never could before. And to watch their relationship deepen and develop into a pretty amazing friendship.
But, Isaac woke up at 2 a.m. today with a stomach ache. He's not sick. Nothing else was the matter. Tim and I talked to him this morning, and we're pretty sure it is stress.
Family counseling can't start soon enough.
This is a cracked and crumbling and broken road we're on. It is not without pain and twists and tears and turns. But there moments that we see the light and the beauty. And we wouldn't trade this road for anything. Even though it hurts. Even though we can't see where it is leading. We're blessed to be on this road. With you. And with our amazing kids. All of them.
© 2013 Karin Shirey Henn, all rights reserved.
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1 month ago