Tonight we go do some more problem solving with Kaeden's school. Yet another appointment to TRY to help our son. He isn't doing well, and the weight of his unhappiness is falling heavy on my shoulders. My heart aches for my son. I can no longer call him my little boy, at a whopping 17 years old and 6 feet, but he remains my child, my heart.
Kaeden has been reacting (overreacting) very aggressively the past couple of months. He has broken many things, but even bigger, he has also become physically aggressive towards people. When he physically assaulted me, I called the police for assistance. Who wants to make that kind of decision when it comes to her child? But it wasn't a decision I had to make. When my head got bashed into the wall, I knew it was time for intervention. That type of battery I can not accept from anyone, including my son. No, I am unwilling to accept being physically abused, or the abuse of other people. It is inhumane, and respect needs to be learned, whatever the cost.
The cost is high. My son no longer lives under my roof. He is *temporarily* living at his home away from home with a visit home on the weekend. And though his weekend visit home has been very positive and we've all had fun together without problems, the fact is that his behavior problems have moved to new ground: specifically, his group home. School is also a point of disaster. And everyone seems to be losing hope, losing the drive to further help him, becoming lost in a world of what do we do now?
The positive of all of this is that his group home now sees, instead of just hearing about, Kaeden's disruptive behavior, his outbursts and disrespect. His autism. The downside is that they aren't sure how to help him. My loving, sweet, happy kid with meldowns and outbursts has turned into a very unhappy, constantly disruptive, friendless young man. He hates his group home as the rules have become too overwhelming, and he often gets his rewards taken away, while he twiddles his thumbs in his lcoked up bedroom. The other guys living with him are tired of him and his ways, and most have turned their backs on the friendly kid who used to be their friend.
And my son calls me, something I consider a blessing, to bear his soul, cry, scream and curse. I promise him I will do all I can to help him. I thank him for confiding in me. I ask what I can do?? And he never knows how to help me to help him. He, too, is lost. And as I calmly speak to my son, reminding him how far respect goes, hwo we all care about him and want to help him, his tears echo in not only my ear, but my heart. I want to clasp him to me, envelop him in my love...but even that I cannot do and even as my soul aches, my mind is happy that he uses me as his out, calls me to help him through his time of need. And somewhere inside, I regretfully feel comfort in the fact that it didn't happen at home...that I wasn't subjected to his disrespect, his outburst, the fear. That for once, I can be his comfort, his sounding block, the place he turns when the world gets too much.
So, tonight we go meet with the group of 10 people all surrounding my son, doing what we can to try to help him, hoping that one day something will click and he will again become the happy, friendly kid that hates authority of any kind. That kid is easier to work with.
I hope we can come up with a plan. I'd like my kid to call me and say: Hi Mama, I'm having a GREAT day! That we could both (all) find comfort and feel the freshness of the wind on our face...not only that cold, bitter chill.