Skip to main content

That light at the end of the tunnel: it's a train, isn't it?





After months of being out of our home, Dark Haired Daughter is set to return next week.  Back in January (while on probation for another matter), she assaulted me and her sister and was arrested.  She stayed in detention for months, as Dear Husband and I fought for a residential treatment placement for her.  She's been in treatment since early spring, where she was diagnosed as bipolar.

She's done well in residential.  She always does well in residential - she's been through this a few times.  You see, residential is a place that is staffed 24/7, with strict rules, limitations and limited choices.  For someone with her depth of mental illness and limited cognitive abilities, this is just the type of structure she needs to be successful....and just the type of structure that two parents in a two-job house can't provide.  A staffed facility offers eyes and ears and limits we just can't sustain.

And just to add insult to injury:  for the first time in YEARS, she is doing well at her school, loving it, achieving, and getting positive feedback from the teaching staff.  Now, I don't even know where she'll be at school in mere days.  She's been suspended and kicked out of almost all of our choices. 

I had a meeting with Daughter's social worker a few weeks back.  It's yet another new worker....and the woman hadn't even opened the child's file prior to the meeting.  Now, Daughter's file is now the size of the Gutenberg Bible, so I understand that it's daunting, but still.  And at this meeting were three other adults....none of whom have ever met my Daughter...and the consensus:  send her home!  She's been doing great here!  She's ready!

But no one else is.

I dread having her home.  There, I said it.  It will be fine for a while, and then it will be really, really not fine.  It will be dreadful.  It will be dangerous and awful and screaming and running away and stealing and suspended and violent.

It will put my other children in harm's way.

It will be stomach-churning stressful for all of us.

And there isn't a damn thing I can do.  Because the law says she has to be at home - "family unity" is key - and there is nothing else anyone is willing to do.  I sat in a meeting with three social workers and told them that this was going to be a dreadful mistake, and they were setting Daughter up for failure.

They had nothing to say.

Look upon me, have pity on me,
for I am alone and afflicted.
Relieve the troubles of my heart;
bring me out of my distress.
Look upon my affliction and suffering;
take away all my sins.

Comments

  1. I am so sorry for the difficult times ahead. I will remember you each morning when I say a daily offering prayer.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

I love comments, even if you don't agree, but please don't leave anonymous posts. A well-mannered reader leaves a name!

Popular posts from this blog

Trying to "end run" God

If you're a football fan, you know what an end run is. From Merriam-Webster:
a football play in which the ballcarrier attempts to run wide around the end of the line We try to "end run" God a lot. I do. I figure I know better. I've got this - no need to worry the Big Guy about such a trivial thing.

Of course, it never works.

Like the puppy above, when we try and evade the tough obstacle (even though we KNOW we will eventually have to do it), we end up - well, off in the bushes.

But oh! How I wished my way worked. I'd love to take a flying leap and land smoothly and gracefully. People would be in awe, as if watching Simone Biles nail a balance beam routine that no one else would even attempt. I would shyly look down and blush - just lightly - and acknowledge (But humbly! Oh so humbly!) my achievement.

But no: I am the one pulling myself out of the bushes, scratches all over my legs and twigs in my hair. I'd hear that gentle but loving voice of God saying, &quo…

Secret Santa!!

Too old for Santa? I think not.

Yes, there are discussions as to whether we should "lie" to kids and tell them that Santa brings them gifts vs. We can't lie to the kids; it's wrong.

There is also the "Christmas is about Jesus" vs. "But Santa is magical!"

You know, we have so few magical and joyful moments, and less and less as we get older. Santa is fun. And the kids usually figure it out, and no one I know was ever scarred for life for believing that Santa brought them and every child everywhere a toy for Christmas.

It's the magic of looking up at the sky on a clear December night, thinking "I'll wait up to see Santa" and later, as you fell asleep at the window, being in your daddy's arms as he carries you to bed.

It's the magic of putting out cookies and milk (or beer, because Santa does like beer) and maybe some carrots for the reindeer, and then checking in the morning to make sure the food was all consumed.

It's…

Advent Brokenness

It was a lovely May evening, the kind we in Michigan savor like honey. After the brutal cold of winter, flowers blossomed, grass greened, mosquitoes flocked. School was almost done for the year - just the formalities of 8th grade graduation were ahead.

Why not saddle up the horse and go for a ride? Why not, indeed. So my sister and I did. I took Prince out across the road from our house, to romp through the weeds on a path my father mowed for us. The view from horseback on a spring night - well, nearly Heaven.

Until Prince bolted. He spooked. I fell. And my arm broke. Compound fracture.

My dog, a collie, had followed us out. He was not particularly trusting of Prince, as Prince would never allow himself to be herded, and this vexed my collie. My dog, channeling his inner Lassie, ran home without me.

My sister had been in the yard with her boyfriend at the time, Gary, waiting for me to come back. Instead, it was just the dog loping across the road. That didn't seem right, so my si…