Another step toward normal

So, today was the last weekday before I return to work after about six weeks of absence.  Thank God I was blessed with the ability to teach;  it won't be the return to "the grind" that will cause me any anxiety but the daily questions of "where will today take Josh?"  At best, this will be a welcome return to a normalcy that somehow manages to help me cope.  Yet, I feel like a new Mom again.  You know, that feeling of "God, I hope this is what I'm supposed to do at this point..." The feeling that a Mom has when she watches her baby boy stand and suddenly let go of that sturdy end table for the first time...the moment that takes your breath away so suddenly and leaves you with an emotion that will stay with you forever. 
This morning, we attended an appointment with one of the high school counselors;  a few weeks ago, Josh had expressed an interest in returning to school (something that took my completely off guard but pleased me to no end).  Josh's biggest issue is the anxiety that social situations cause him - particularly peer-related situations where he stands the possibility of being judged by others.  Ever since the years of incessant bullying, Josh has a very fragile heart that falls and breaks, again and again, with every hurtful rejection.  However, this newest development is a healthy one - a hint that he very possibly has come to see his last year of adolescence as his last chance at normalcy, and this new clarity of mind as the new light at the end of the tunnel. 
On the outside of this aging shell, I visited with the counselor with my Mom face on - insisting that this decision be made in the best interest of Josh.  I smiled, I laughed, I assisted in the search for all possibilities.  We were delighted to discover that many students in our area actually opt for a more part-time approach to public education - attending 3, 2, or even only 1 class in the brick and mortar institution while continuing in other capacities with outlets such as homeschooling and virtual academies. This is encouraging - and such a wonderful opportunity for Josh to continue his baby steps toward a semi-normal life.
On the inside, however, I am terrified.  As much as I would like to believe that the majority of the students still in high school have grown and matured beyond the year when hell was visited upon us, I know better.  Yet, I can do nothing more than what I have been doing for over two years now:  hope. I can hope that Josh is truly ready and that, if he isn't ready, he is at least capable of dealing with the inevitable head on, putting his faith in the months of hard work he has put into this one moment.  We will hope that the medicines we have come to rely on to tell us what we know or don't know will hold strong at the moment that he really needs it.
When I go to bed tonight, I'm sure that I will toss and turn for hours before finally giving in to sleep.  I'm already exhausted at the possibility, but it is something I have become accustomed to.  It seems that we have moved on to yet another step forward in this process - a step that, as a Mom, I have no choice but to allow, just like I allowed that first step my baby boy took so many years ago when he finally let go of that end table and took on the world.

Seventeen

My son's birthdays have always been a special event in our home, especially for the 14 years that it was just he and I.  I looked forward to every single birthday, planning ahead, making sure that I got just the right cake, just the right card, just the right invitations for his party....gosh, it has been so long since we were able to have a little-guy birthday party.  I think the loss of those little joys is one of the things that makes his growing age that much harder. 
After all we've been through over the past two years, birthday parties seem like the smallest of of all things that would make me sad on this birthday-eve, but they do.  There were so many of those parties when Josh was little - parties at the bowling alley, the skating rink, the swimming pool;  little boys and girls running around, enjoying each others' company, loving the fact that they could have fun, free of the confines of school or other peers, looking forward to the look on their friend's face when he sees his gift that they picked out all by themselves.  Ah, yes...there's those tears. 
However, tomorrow marks another year that my son has lived his life, and although he may have had a bump or two in the road, he's recovered enough to enjoy another birthday at home.  Amazingly, he has only missed one of those in the past 3 years, and I hope it is the only one ever.  Plus, he is one year closer to the age of 18, something neither one of us is real sure how to feel about at this point.  This next year will be the tell-all of the future, and I'm bracing myself tonight, before the cake comes out and the candles are lit, for probably the hardest year we've ever had. 
I am reminded of a quote by Sally Field as the mother in "Steel Magnolias"..she said, "...I realized how lucky I am as a woman...I was there when that beautiful creature drifted into my life, and I was there when she drifted out...."  I believe this to be the hope that bonds all mothers, the hope that we can be there for our child in everything.  And although I am also a believer that parents should always go before their children, there is a blessing in being the mother, for, even if no one else had been present in that room on the evening of February 28, 1994, I was there.  I was there when that beautiful baby boy took his first breath of life, and I have been there for 17 years, watching him breathe that life back into this world, and I wouldn't trade one second of that time for anything.  For that, I am very, very lucky.

A work in progress

I am currently in the process of creating, editing, and adding to this blog.  I hope that readers will continue to visit, join my blog, and be patient while I sift through the wreckage and compose the best information that I can.  Please look through my new pages as I continue to fill them in, and please, become a follower, settle in, send me a comment or suggestion as you wish, and know that I value your time.  This blog is a testament to what my son and my family have been through the past two years and the lifetime we have ahead of us.  Although we still aren't sure of the answers, we are working very hard to find solutions, and I want desperately to reach out to other parents who can unfortunately understand our pain and/or those who have been blessed without these experiences but who are interested and willing to listen. 

Diagnosis #2

Per doctor recommendations, we continued my son's regular counseling appointments and physician sessions to "monitor" the medications.  Although the counseling appointments proved helpful and this particular counselor would be key to finding solutions 2 years later, the physician visits were insubstantial and completely naive to the entire medication process.  Over the course of the next two months, the lack of knowledge would allow my son to sink into a very dangerous abyss.  Regardless of how many times I returned him to his doctor and begged that the medications be adjusted, the answer was always the same, "Let's just wait another week or so and see what happens."  This would unfortunately be a statement that would be repeated among many of the "professionals" we would come in contact with.
Two weeks before the "incident" that landed my son in the system, a number of fellow co-workers, friends, and trusted leaders in my school (and the school that my son attended) had begun to approach me rather hesitantly but with true concern regarding my son's strange behaviors and altered personality.  At first, it was his attire that had changed - he had begun to wear suits and ties to school every day.  We had hoped that this was just a phase in which he was trying to express himself in a more positive manner than he had in the past.  However, before long, other concerns began to surface.
Suddenly, my son became paranoid and erratic, claiming that there were individuals trying to start a race war at the school and that he had started a new "group" to combat these individuals.  He began to claim that students were carrying weapons to school on a regular basis and that he could no longer trust his friends or his teachers.  His language became rude and inappropriate, and for the first time in his life, he was suddenly called to the principals office because of his behaviors.  Before long, I did not recognize the child whom I had raised on my own for 14 years.  He was losing sleep, flitting around with strange bursts of "creative" energy, busying himself with combating issues that may or may not have even existed.  I was losing my son, and the answers that came from the "doctors" were empty and unsettling.  In fact, his doctor believed that he had actually "improved" a bit in that he was no longer suicidal.
This would be the final mistake that would inevitably drive my son and my family toward an inferno.

Little miracles

I have always said that God and I have a very interesting relationship.  He throws things at me and laughs while I duck.  Yet, I continue on and have managed to somehow survive every projectile.  To be honest, I couldn't be more sick of that ridiculous cliche' "God doesn't give you more than you can handle".  Bulls**t.  Life is life, and I don't believe that every single thing that happens does for a reason - I just don't. And if this were true, then I think I've been pushed further than my share. There are times, of course, when I lost touch with whatever my relationship is with God and even questioned its existence at all, but here's the thing:
At every junction of my life, at every crossroad of heaven and hell, when it feels like I just can't face another obstacle, there are miraculous little reminders that I am not alone.  Just shortly after my son's removal from the home and placement in a state facility, I received a phone call from a dear old friend whom I had always referred to as "big brother".  I hadn't heard from him in years, and yet I knew right away the reason for his call.  Years before, when I had been in a desperate situation, he and another friend had come to get me and, unknown to them, had probably saved my life.  I know that even if he hadn't called because he knew what had occurred, something had spurred his contact, and that "something" was most likely a little nudge from God himself.  Thank you for that.
Since then, three other friends and soul mates have come forward miraculously and at just the right time.  In the past year, two men who were like second and third fathers to me have resurfaced and reconnected with me via Facebook, and Josh has gone to work with another past friend whom I have known for over 15 years.  Best of all, I managed to find my long-lost BFF whom I had met in college and had contributed to some of the most memorable and humorous times in my life.  He made me laugh, he sat patiently while I cried, and through it all he hid the fact that he was in the midst of his own hellish battles.
Although  I'm sure that our trials and tribulations over the past two years aren't necessarily the reason for the resurfacing of old and valuable friendships, I feel that their reappearances have doubled, tripled, even quadrupled my son's chances of healing. 

One of many steps

In October of 2010, one of the first steps in our new process of recovery was to do a sleep study.  He had always complained of sleep issues, but this time we were approaching the issues as part of the problem rather than just a possibility.  This picture was taken during one of many sleep sessions, some that were done over a course of minutes, some hours, and one as an overnight observation.  Every time, he had to be wrapped up in all of these wires and monitored for brain and heart activity.  It was a long process, but it was worth the effort.  Josh was then diagnosed as having delayed sleep phase.  Basically, this means that Josh has trouble falling asleep at any time of the day or night, regardless of what time he got up in the morning or how strenuous his daily activities were.  He was also diagnosed with a very minor form of narcolepsy, which is usually something that we laugh about but can apparently be rather serious and debilitating.  In Josh's case, however, I think it is more of a form of exhaustion onset by his delayed sleep phase issues.  In other words, if you don't sleep well at night, I'm sure you'll be able to nod off at some other point in the day without much trouble.  Regardless, the findings were minor and not something that we feel requires medication.  And, if anything, it was quite the learning opportunity!

Worth a night out

Tonight, my son and I had a rare but enjoyable night out with his grandparents for dinner and a movie.  Usually, Josh goes once a week with his grandpa, but when my Mom and I found out that The King's Speech was playing, we knew that we would have to join the guys for this one.  Before the movie ended, I had already begun to write this post in my head and was anxious to get this out to all of you.  Really, if you don't go to any other movie this season, you MUST see this one.  It is outstanding.  I won't go into the plot of the film, but I will tell you this.  There was a point in the movie at which Lionel - the speech therapist - says to King George VI (or Bertie, as he calls him), "You don't have to be afraid of the things you were afraid of when you were five.  You are your own man, Bertie."  At these words, I turned to my son, who turned to me at exactly the same moment, and I very briefly patted him on the knee and nodded.  Words to live by, my son.  I will also take just a brief moment to give notice to the undeniably mischievous humor and the modest visualizations of such a beautiful and historical country. 
For me, this movie was about much more than a man who winds up King - his biggest fear of all - only by default and finds himself having to make speeches while simultaneously battling a severe case of stuttering (or "stammering" as they call it).  For me, this movie was about the King in all of us - the King that, intended or not, finds himself doing something for which he is physically and emotionally inept.  It is also about fear - the fear that once made us a victim and that now calls us cowardly.  It may not be a speech impairment or Hitler's armies that keep us at bay, but our fears are just as real and, sometimes, just as terrifying.  However, as The King's Speech so perfectly teaches us, it is simply the belief in and the assertion of our own voice that conquers all.

The heart of a teacher

It never ceases to amaze me how much I would have missed in life without my students.  Because of my son's medicinal needs, I recently took medical leave time from work so that I could stay home and monitor his progress, adjust his diet, keep him on a schedule, etc.  Yes, he is almost 17 years old, and yet I am home with him for the first time in his young life.  I reflect here on a comment made to me by a co-worker and friend not long ago.  She said, "My kids have needed me more now that they are teenagers than they ever did when they were little."  Boy, was she right.
I've always been angry with my inability to stay home and be a Mom for my son all of those years.  Although that's not something that is common in our family, it is something that I know I had always wanted.  I mean, I'm all for women's lib here and there, but I believe that there are just some things that shouldn't be sacrificed in the name of equality, and that includes the stability and development of our children.  However, I digress..
Since I have become a teacher, it isn't until I am absent from my job that I realize how much I miss the work and the kids.  Yes, they can be frustrating and irritating and the work can be unrelenting, but it's the fact that I can say that I have been a part of over 150 lives a year for 10 years that keeps me going back.  The same person I quoted above said something about this as well.  I had been complaining about what a good life my step-sister and her husband seem to have, with their beautiful home, fancy cars, their own business, and a beautiful baby boy (and a nanny) when my friend said to me, "You know, she may have all that money and all of those material things, but you impact the lives of hundreds of kids every year, and for that you are so much more important.  You are more valuable than they will ever understand."  Again, she is so right.
Since I have been on leave, the outpouring of support and concern from my students has been amazing.  Even friends of my stepson - kids that I have not yet taught but hope to in a couple years - check in with me at least once a week to ask how Josh and I are doing.  I began receiving friend requests on Facebook, and I accepted them gladly, making this a great way to keep in touch with my students while also trying to set a good example for behavior in social networking sites.  Pretty soon, I had friend requests coming all over from my classes, and then came the chat and messages.  Not only do they check in and ask me when I'll be back, but they also make a point of asking, "How's Josh?"  More than once, this brought tears to my eyes.
What's more, I have received one - yes, ONE - email from my co-workers over the past month and 1/2 asking how I am.  Now, tell me who the real human beings are....and I'll take my kids over the other any day. God Bless them and their young hearts.  If only my son had had the privilege of knowing kids like them when he was their age.  In any case, I am grateful for them, and I hope that the world will someday get the chance to know these young, wonderful people as I have.

More than a brisk walk

Today, my son and I took another trip to the Rec Center for a two-mile walk.  Since I have been home with him the past few weeks, we have tried to make this a habit as part of our daily regimen while we continue to experiment with the right medication. 
He seemed rather tired today but gave no indications as to why, and our walk was as successful as always.  It's interesting how you can become so comfortable with something that eventually you require absolutely no conversation within the course of its existence.  Although, it isn't really that Josh and I don't communicate; in fact, I would risk to say that he and I probably communicate better than most parents and teens, but only because the past two years have left us with no other choice. 
Anyway, as we left the facility, two teen boys passed us on their way in.  Immediately, I could sense my son's apprehension and the tensing of his neck.  I recognized the kid, but because I teach only a fraction of the kids who attend our school, names and identities tend to escape me.  He passed with his friend, and about two steps later my son said, "I can't stand that kid."  I asked right away who the kid was, and my son reminded me.  Oh yes, another one of those a-holes that managed to make my son's life less-than enjoyable.  Without giving names, I will say that this is one of many students we've had in the past who use their parents' standing in the schools as an excuse to be a jerk. 
As another day passes in our struggles to find whatever relief might be possible for Josh, we have yet crossed another small but important bridge in his identification with the world.  It is unfortunate that kids who have been picked on, belittled, and bullied have to continue on in their lives with the constant possibility that they will have to come face to face with their assailants.  Not only that, but the bully himself will continue to maintain the air of confidence while the victim continues to cower within himself and, nine times out of ten, will never experience the opposite effect.  Every time this happens, my breaks all over again and I have to fight off the ugly thoughts that come to mind.  I may be a teacher and a genuinely good person, but those who harm my son will forever carry with them - known or not - the wrath of a mama bear.
As we got into the car and began to exit the parking lot, my son and I did our best to laugh a little, but I knew that the surface of an old scar had again been disturbed and that it will take a while for him to recover.  Most people don't know this about bullying.  You see, most instances don't result in the happy ending you see on television.  Ultimately, the "it will get better" speech carries absolutely no truth for many victims.  In fact, most of these kids will go on to be victimized in other ways for the rest of their lives - by spouses, "friends", bosses and co-workers, even by their own children or other family members.  It is just the way it is, and it is more painful than anyone can imagine unless you've been there. 
As I suspected, my son has spent most of the afternoon in a somewhat somber mood and complained of a headache.  He is treated by a medication 3 times a day for migraines, and today was just a gentle reminder for me that these were the first warning signs so many years ago.  I can only hope that he manages to sleep through the night and will wake up hopeful again.  If not, we will take a short, brisk walk backward for a couple days until the pain has subsided, the scar has returned to a dull imperfection, and he is able to step up to another day at the Rec.  For me, the night will probably be a restless one, but I will continue to hold on to the hope that has gotten us this far.

The new fad

Am I the only one who has noticed the sudden explosion of "Mom" books on the market?  Why is it that suddenly everybody who has an "in" with a publisher thinks she can write a book about parenting?  I saw an interview with "The Naked Mom" a few days ago, and was disgusted with what seems to be an enormous waste of paper designed to do nothing more than spew the "DUH"s of raising children.  Want an example?  Apparently, in the book, she talks about having left her baby in the car while "quickly" running in to get a coffee - later realizing her mistake, of course, when a group of people have gathered around the car (and entrapped child) to whisper and point fingers at her when she exits.  Really, lady?  You are going to make money by telling the world how irresponsible you truly are?   I'm sorry, but I do not find myself feeling sorry for her or even relating to her guilt. More importantly, I have no intention of paying $24.95 for a copy of it.  If we've done it, we've done it - and I'm not saying I have or haven't - but we don't need someone else to make money off of our own ill-fated decisions. How about writing books that we actually learn something from? 
The other thing that irritates me about today's "literature" is that many of the new parenting books are written by parents who are celebrities. There have been numerous interviews on recent talk shows with single-parent celebrities who can supposedly attest to the difficulties of raising children on your own.  Okay, at the risk of sounding like a real *itch, I have to say that I fail to see how someone with access to unlimited funds, unlimited opportunities, live-in nannies, on-sight childcare, and private tutors has any understanding of what it takes to be a single parent.  Anybody can be a parent (unfortunately) and anybody can become a single parent at any moment.  However, the difficulties of single parenthood do not simply come from whether or not there is more than one parent in the home.  Contrary to popular opinion (or just blissful ignorance), it is those who go unheard who truly brave the world and its stereotypes if only to give their children the opportunity to be successful.  Let's hear from those who don't have an agent or publisher on speed dial, a nanny, a support-paying co-parent, and a bank account.   

To begin

Why do I call myself "Raggedy Mom"?  Good question.  The name initially came to me while sitting on my couch one night, alone.  My house was quiet - my husband and 4 boys had all gone to bed, but I was still up - as I am many nights these days - waiting for exhaustion to make it impossible for me to stay up any longer. Across from me, atop my grandmother's hope chest  (built by my father when he was in high school), the painted-on, familiar smiles of Raggedy Ann and Andy peered back at me.  For my birthday this year, my Mom had purchased these dolls from a vendor at our local holiday bazaar.  Handmade and truly authentic, they stole my heart as soon as I saw them.  I can remember loving Raggedy Ann as a child, and now, as an adult woman who has come through more than the usual trials and tribulations, I find myself somewhat relative to the well-loved doll. I, too, have spent my life as a recipient of human affections - held and dropped, lost and found, cuddled and abused, and after the birth of my son, I became all of those things all over again but without the benefit of youth.  Most of all, though, I have been well-loved by my son, however tattered and torn, loved and hated.  That is how I have learned to refer to myself: well-loved;  Raggedy;  Raggedy Mom. And I would not have it any other way.  As hard as life has been to me, my job as Raggedy Mom is to be there, unconditionally, waiting, anticipating whatever my son has to offer next, and taking it because it is love that makes any doll (or Mom)  irreplaceable. Age takes its toll, slowly but truly, and the stresses of life just seek to explain those unidentifiable stains and the tiny tears in my dress.