Time Warp, Part 3

19 Apr Time Warp, Part 3

Monday marked 3 weeks that my son has been in the residential treatment center up outside of Portland, OR. Each Monday that has rolled by vividly reminds me of that Monday 3 weeks ago. Rolling out of bed at 3:45 am and taking the dog out on the front sidewalk to await the arrival of two men whom I had never met, into whose hands I would place my treasured son for safe transport to Oregon.

I had tried desperately, and in many different ways, to get him to acquiesce to a road trip with me, so that we could get him there safely and most economically. He would have none of it. “I’m not going anywhere,” he would declare. With the staunch defiance he had too often displayed in the past months that resulted in a short disappearance in the middle of Pixley, CA (“Nowheresville, USA”) on the way back from the family Thanksgiving trip to having a number of Police Officers to the house through several different runaway incidents and a suicide threat/attempt, unless he responded with some sincere  willingness to do the trip, there would be no way I would take the chance of two days and 1,000 miles with him.

After exchanging pleasantries and signing legal documents, we woke him out of a deep sleep at 4:00 am. We told him we love him very much; enough to make sure he was safe and well taken care of, and that this was the day he was going to Oregon. We assured him that we would be in touch and that he would not be abandoned or left to go through this alone, and introduced him to John & Jim. We let him know we had checked these guys out and he was safe with them, kissed his forehead and walked out of the house. (We had inconspicuously transported his brother to a friend’s house to spend the night so he wouldn’t be at home in case resistance would wake him.)

We were relieved to hear the report a few hours later that he was compliant (we hear they usually are with these guys, not being sure who they are, rather than raising a ruckus with people they know). They reported he was actually polite, thanked them and shook their hands when they left him at the facility. (Maybe we’ve done some things right after all, we chuckled to ourselves).

We expected the last 3 weeks would bring some relief to our lives and peace to our house. It’s definitely more peaceful around the house. Almost too quiet. But we’re still waiting for the relief to set in. More on that in the next post. Lots still going on.

So on Monday morning, Colleen was preparing a card to send him. She does such a good job keeping up on notes and cards to people. I usually just need to provide a signature. Today, she was stumped on the note. I took the card and began to write. As soon as I did, tears began to flow. I could hardly finish. Once I did, I had to retreat to my bedroom, where I laid on the bed and wept for a long time

Even as I type this way too late Monday night, tears come easy. I haven’t cried much the last 3 weeks. Not that I haven’t been sad. That’s been extremely so. And I’ve cried some, but not like Monday morning.

Maybe it was the “Monday morning trauma” from letting him go with strangers 3 weeks ago. Maybe it’s how busy life has been since he’s been gone. Maybe it’s just me trying to keep myself busy in order to avoid what finally took place today. Doesn’t really matter.

I miss him. I miss his goofy humor and his bear hugs. I wish we could do this successfully at home. I wish he didn’t have to walk through this fierce battle. I would do anything for him to not have to walk this road, but I can’t do anything to keep him from having to.

I hope more than anything that Jesus will make Himself so real to my son in a very lonely place. Jesus, please be with my son and make your presence known to him, even right now in the moment I am typing this, and the moment that anyone is reading this prayer, agreeing with me in their heart.

As this is “Passion Week”, the week before Easter, when Jesus walking that road of suffering toward the cross is remembered, I cannot imagine how God the Father’s heart must have ripped for His Son. I am sure the pain of my heart could never match that.