Surprised By My Tears

No one warned me that Marley & Me was a sad movie. Love stories don't get to me, but the dog died at the end of this movie, and I sobbed like a baby up in my tree house room late the other night.

I cried today in my truck for another reason.

We had a court date tomorrow, a day in which Jonathan's probation would be revoked due to his many offenses. I knew they'd take him away in handcuffs, crying and blubbering, and I was truly afraid I'd emotionally go over the edge as well.

Yesterday around two Charli called to tell me we'd been approved for our PRTF application. Major obstacle overcome. Wow. We'd applied for RBWO almost thee years ago when he was refusing to attend school for days on end and had been turned down.

"It's on you now, the parent has to call around to different facilities and get him admitted," she told me. "Text me back if you get it done and I'll fax over the approval papers.

Ten minutes later, first call made to the first facility of my choice and he was accepted, a flurry of emails, texts and faxes got the rest of the job done and I had him there by 10 a.m. this morning.

By 11:30 it was all over, all paperwork done, Jonathan trotted off excitedly like a kid at camp, barely hugging me goodbye.

I got into my truck and cried.

Cried over the unfairness of life. This is a kid who just can't. It's not that he won't. He just can't. He goes into the dark and angry bipolar caves of his mind and there's no reasoning with him. He's threatened murder, he's assaulted folks, he lies and he steals, but I don't think these are willfully disobedient choices.

He's severely emotionally troubled.

I'm terribly afraid if he someday carried out his murderous threats that have been well-documented, fingers would be pointed at me. "Why didn't YOU get him help when you knew he was like this?"

Like I haven't been trying for the past nine years, one month and 17 days? Four out of five kids in this sib group are flat out dangerous, they want to hurt others, and I find it ultimately heartbreaking.

I drove the 60 miles back home and tackled my errand list, staying busy, talked myself down on the phone with Yolie, Sarah and Emily, later with Grandma.

I'm not crying now, I'm just left with a sense of sadness and loss. I don't know what's gonna happen. He might honeymoon there, behave superbly, be released only to come home and explode viciously. I just don't know what's up ahead for us.

I do know that I'm very glad he's in an excellent treatment center instead of being locked up at RYDC. He doesn't need to be just punished, he needs help.

Tonight will be much quieter at my house, there's a sense too of relief in that I don't have to scurry around, walking on eggshells, trying to manage his very irrational behaviors and explosions. My own PTSD though isn't allowing me to totally let down my guard. I'm too much of an emotional wreck after the last ten years of very intense behavior challenges here 24-7 at my home. I just don't feel totally safe yet, even though I'm left with a pretty great group of kids. It's me, I'm the one with issues now.

The six potential victims of Jonathan, those that he predatorily deems younger or weaker will certainly now be relieved.

I kinda just feel like I've been hit by a frieght train over and over and over again for too many years in a row, a little afraid to get back up, knowing there's likely another train on the way, and I just can't figuratively get my big butt off the tracks safely.