Not last night.
First, I had to run all over the city after work, picking up two kids from two different places and do some errands.
Next, I had to drive home in rush hour traffic with two teenagers in the car.
Got home, was "hangry" (hungry/angry), sat down next to Dear Husband, and...the house exploded.
Well, not really. It was really Youngest Son who exploded. Why? Who the #$^@ knows...Partially, he was upset about a gaming system that wasn't working. Partially, he was mad because he wanted our "permission" to leave and not come home. Partially, he's depressed and scared out of his mind.
It took me two hours to "talk him down." He was raging, screaming, sweating. Begging to leave, but not making any move to go. Telling us how much we had failed him, yet crying out for help from us. Telling us he'd shoot himself in the head if he had a gun, then finally asking for something to eat.
What is it like to be 17 and be this scared, angry, depressed? To look at your future and see...nothing? A void. To feel so much disconnect between yourself and the people who love you most?
I don't know. I do know what it's like to be the mother of this child. And it is so painful.
While I was talking to him, I was whispering the Memorare, over and over. Saying the name of Jesus. Praying without words for this child who is standing on the ledge. Hoping that those prayers were enough to pull him from that ledge just one more time. Give us one more chance to help him.
He wants the help, and can't see how any of this will do any good. God, depression is such an evil monster. It puts people on that ledge and makes the leap look so enticing. I hate this disease, but I won't stop fighting for my child.
Here's hoping for a better night tonight. Just one day at a time. One evening. One night. Then one more day tomorrow. Breathe. Pray.
He let me hug him. I told him he didn't have to hug me back, and he didn't, but he let me hold him. I got him off that ledge one more time.