Day 14

One of his band members called me last night to ask when he would be home. He seemed fairly shocked when I said that we were hoping to have him home by Thanksgiving, but there were no guarantees. I told him that I'd keep them informed, but that how long it would be would depend on him, and how quickly he accepted the program. They wanted to be able to write to him and I had to explain that that wasn't possible.

Knowing that worrying about his place in the band is one of his big worries, and knowing that I can't tell him they called - is hard.

Day 13

Good news today from the education coordinator. After reviewing the work he's done in the week he's been there, she feels he is ready for 11th grade honors Algebra 2 and American Literature. While she feels he could also handle honors chemistry, we're keeping him in college prep as he only has a limited number of hours a day for school, so the amount of work involved in 3 honors courses might be too much. That was it for good news.

I got a cut through your heart letter today - in the cycles of grief, he'd definitely spiraled back from depression to anger. It was incredibly cruel, and addressed only to me. He denied that he'd intended to use the knife I'd found in his room to hurt himself, but then went on to let me know that he was more apt to commit suicide in the future because of what I was doing- and that when he did, he'd make sure that he would do it in a horrible manner, and make sure that I would find him. I immediately called his therapist to see if he was in a safe frame of mind. They had actually just finished speaking, and he reassured me that he was fine...and that the letter was designed to hurt me- which it had. He recommended that my response be brief and just focus on the fact that extreme statements like that were one of the reasons he'd been enrolled in the program - period. This is another learning moment for me, as my tendency had always been to ignore my feelings, and focusing on addressing the pain underneath his behavior. Responding to a letter like that with a cool reply is a foreign concept to me. I think I need to process this a bit more, and sleep on it before drafting my reply.

Day 12

His school has concluded that he best way to deal with this "situation" is to close out his grades at the end of the third term - giving him full credit for 10th grade, even though he didn't complete the year. I had asked for them to send the rest of the material up to the facility, as they have teachers who would go over it with him. The answer was no - they were just going to declare him done. So, we're working with the distance learning coordinator to make sure he's mastered all the 10th grade material in English and Geometry before moving on to 11th grade. The will be gaps in History, Biology, and Spanish that we can either accept, or figure out how to deal with later.

In order to get the credit for the year, however, we needed a note from his pediatrician, which I picked up and dropped off today.

This situation is really frustrating - as this seems to be the worst sort of "social promotion"...I think they are reluctant to provide the materials because that would acknowledge that someone needs to assume responsibility for his education while he's there...and if it's them, they need to pay for it. So just saying "Yep, he's done!' is simpler.

Day 11

No letter today, so I'm assuming he's realized that asking us to bring him home won't work, and we'll only be receiving the required two letters home a week. I did write to him to today to let him know that we could not pass the letter he sent to his girlfriend on to her. That was very painful to write, as I know how much that will hurt him. But as the therapist said, he needs to work on his own issues-- without distractions. He will probably feel more betrayed by that action than by the fact that we sent him there in the first place.

The other news was good--more or less--he's being polite, cooperative, and working hard...although he still hasn't identified anything he needs to work on. The therapist feels it's unlikely he'll be ready to see us at the next family weekend in May- which means it will be the last weekend in July before we see him.

His pediatrician called tonight, and reassured me that this was necessary- that it was highly unlikely that our son would pull out of this on his own. I know that in my head; I'm still waiting for my heart to catch up.

Day 10

I got most of the paperwork filled out today (but still have to complete the detailed biography). One of the forms we had to complete was an agreement that we undergo family therapy with a local therapist while he's in the program. They feel that will help ensure that the changes he's making "stick"...it's a formal acknowledgment that we need to change, too. So, while he's hopefully digging deep to learn about himself, we need to dig deep, too.

Day 9

It appears he's stopped writing to us, and is now only writing to his sister. That may be the beginning of acceptance that he's there. We got our first web update today- it included two pictures. One was awful, he's smiling at the camera with the horrible grin--although his mouth is curved in a smile, his face looks pained, and his eyes are red. The other is better. He's working chopping up wood. The note he included with the web update said (in part) "I can't say that I am happy in the least bit, but at least I am getting in shape."

The letter to his sister, though, raised another issue. He included a letter that he wants her to forward on to his "ex-girlfriend-but-its-complicated." I like the girl a lot, but the facility has said that this is not a good idea. I guess we'll talk to his therapist on Monday to see how to handle it.

Day 8

Well, its been a week. If he's there 8 months, that means we're about 1/32 of the way through this...so we're still on the starting line.

I chose to let his sister open the letter herself. She read it, and then asked me if I'd like to read it. He just asked her to contact his band members and his ex-girlfriend (well actually in Facebook terms it's probably more of "in a relationship but its complicated" than ex), just so that they'd know what had happened, and didn't think he was ignoring them. No plots or pleas to break him out...just a well reasoned letter saying he was sorry he hadn't gotten to know her better, and that he hoped he'd be home before she went to college. He ended with a request that she write to him every day. I can't see anything but good coming from that - what brother and sister exchange written letters on a daily basis in this day and age?

So my mood one week in? I have a hole in my heart because he's not here. It's a similar feeling I had when his oldest sister left for college - but in that case I could call, or text...or go see her for dinner. This is very different. He's in a place where I can't call, or see him - and can only write every other day. That's the first therapeutic intervention for me - reducing the number of letters I write to him. My husband was concerned that it would appear "unbalanced" if I wrote daily and he wrote once a week...and the therapist agreed...so we compromised on me only writing every other day. I knew that I would need to make some changes as part of the family recovery process-- but didn't think it would affect something so fundamental as how often I wrote. The therapist said that most kids only hear from their parents once a week! So, I write every day - but only send the letter every other day.

Day 7

No letters for us today. Hopefully that means he's beginning to accept that he's there for a while, and is beginning to work the program. It could just mean he's given up on us rescuing him, but I think I'll try to be optimistic.

He did write to his sister today. This means we have a decision. The therapist suggests we screen the mail, to make sure he's not asking her to pass messages to his friends. Part of me thinks that's a good idea, but the rest of me feels that's a real violation of an 18 year old's privacy. I think the best way to handle it is to explain what's at stake and ask if she's comfortable saying "no" to him if he asks her to contact anyone for him, or if she'd prefer us to act as a buffer.

Day 6

We received 5 letters today. It appears he's moved on from anger to bargaining. Each letter was an articulate plea for us to give him one more chance. He highlighted all the people who would miss him, even including the teachers who'd worked so hard to get him through this year...and begged us to let him come home and go to therapy here.

Earlier in the day, I had found a few surprises in his closest-- an empty vodka bottle, and one of my kitchen knifes. Not a little paring knife--but an 8 inch fillet knife. I can't imagine what it was doing there, but if anything convinced me we;d done the right thing, finding that knife did. Perhaps there's an innocent explanation, but I can't think of one.

His therapist says he seems to be settling in, and has made a good start by associating with the kids who are "working the program" rather than the "hard nuts" who are resisting. So, although he may not be on totally on board yet, he's at least moving in the right direction.

Day 5

I received a ton of paperwork from the facility to be completed. Everything from a detailed biography to various release forms for drug stores, doctors, and the like. We were also contacted about clothes and personal items he still needs...so I guess today was an "administrivia" day.

Even in the midst of working through grief and loss, the administrative details that structure our lives go on. Somehow in the next few days I need to pull together an amended financial aid petition for my daughter (the costs of our son's placement might tip the balance for eligibility), complete all the paperwork the facility requires (including the aforementioned biography), begin the process to refinance the house (so we can get the money to pay the facility), get his pediatrician to sign a form stating he can't complete the school year for medical reasons, and get his academic records released from his high school, and shop for and ship the remaining required clothes he needs. Perhaps this is the universe's way of letting me know I need to pull myself together...by burying myself in busywork?

Day 4

We had our first family session with the therapist this morning. It didn't include our son, however -- he won't be participating until his therapist feels that interacting with us will be productive -- which will probably be in 1- 2 months when he's graduated to Level 2. The therapist's best guess is that he will probably be home somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Both the therapist and the psychiatric nurse at the school think that SSRIs are probably indicated, so they asked our permission to have him see the psychiatrist. That won't happen until the beginning of May, when he's settled in a bit more and can be better assessed.

We got our first letter today he wrote it shortly after arriving on Friday morning. It was a fairly well-written articulate plea for us to change our minds. I cried. Here are his closing words: "...don't ever say that you love me again because I want my life back. I will not send this letter with love because I look inside my heart and I find heartbreak, betrayal, and disloyalty and nothing more since this morning."

Day 3

I've moved his phone into his room, so I wouldn't hear the buzzing. It's not ringing as often,however. We need to figure out the best way to tell the friends he has who aren't local. Most of his friends know, I think, as we called his closest friends' parents to let them know what was going on. One subdued boy came by to drop off some things our son had left at his house...and mentioned that he thought this was "pretty drastic". I guess that plays into the popular perception that it's "just weed." But, it's not just weed...it's the distance, the not caring, the pain, the disengagement, the depression...everything that the "just weed" was helping him hide from.

The assistant unit manager called us tonight to give us a summary of his day. He finished all of his writing last night, so he came off impact at 8am this am, and was integrated into the group. He was very sad and tearful most of the day, even resorting to cutting the back of his hand with a rock. The woman I spoke to said that she sat down and talked with him about it-- he said it was the only thing he could do with his feelings. She had him come up with a safety contract that identified some other things he could do, such as write to us, talk to staff, write in his journal, or ask to speak with a peer mentor.

She said that he was pretty tearful most of the day, but did seem better when he was assigned the job of preparing dinner with another resident. They made spaghetti with sauce from scratch, salad, and bread sticks. After dinner they are having a campfire with music, and there are a few residents with guitars he can borrow, which should help him.

The other thing she said was that he said he knew why he was there--he said that his parents though he was depressed and unhappy, and he had shut us out of his life, so we didn't know what was going on with him.

Day 2

The house is quiet. No ''Call of Duty'', no Slipknot, no boy-noises...just an unanswered cellphone that seems to be buzzing constantly...a reminder of the fact that my son did have a life with friends who, whatever they were involved in, care about him and wonder where he went. Most of the names I know, but there are a fair number of strange names, and phone numbers without a name assigned. Are these innocent numbers--or evidence of the dark life that led us to make this drastic choice?

I talk to a friend of a friend who says when her son was taken, she hid all the baby pictures, as looking at his smiling-toddler-face made her cry. She reassured me that they are "all back now"...but it took several years and multiple placements for things to work out for them. The thought that this may be the beginning of a several year process terrifies me.

My son's therapist calls from the facility, to reassure me that he's doing okay, ate breakfast, and is continuing with his writing assignments. I get a second call after dinner from another staff member, reassuring me that he's eating, and finishing up his writing. Its cool in Maine this evening, so he's made himself a fire, and is sitting by it finishing up his assignments. They expect him to be ready to join the community tomorrow. Is that good news? I guess we're on track with the "normal" progression of the program.

I've sent off two letters so far-- both full of inane details about things that are irrelevant to what he's going through...I know he hates me now...and I wonder if I've severed that mother-child bond finally and irrevocably.

I alternately cry, and feel numb.

Entering his room I find marijuana and a scale. Does this mean we acted too late? Or just in time?

Day 1

Our son's therapist called around 8:30 am to let us know that he had arrived safely, and had participated cooperatively during the intake process. When I asked how he was doing, the therapist responded that if 1 was out of control, and 10 was perfect, he was "about a 9"...not happy to be there, but interested in checking the place and the other kids out.

He was given writing materials, brought to a circle of stones, where he was given his first assignment: write letters to his parents, his therapist and himself, write a statement about "why I am here", and write an autobiography that is at least 15 pages long. When these assignments are completed, he will join the rest of the community. Although he'll be sleeping in the bunkhouse with the rest of the boys, no one is allowed to talk to him until he's finished his assignments. The process can take 2-3 days, and we'll be notified when he moves on.

Another staff member called me later in the morning to let me know that although he'd been very tearful when he arrived, he was being compliant, and had written two of the letters so far. He also had questions about when and how often my son used his asthma inhaler.

Mid-day, I got a third phone from his unit leader letting me know that he'd completed all the letters, as well as the "why I am here" essay, and was starting on doing some drawings and autobiography. She also let me know that his urine did test positive for marijuana, but he was negative for all the other substances they test for during intake. Good news of sorts. The bad news was that he was refusing food. This is not uncommon when he is depressed--but what had always happened at home was that he would not eat all day, then get high and eat voraciously.

His therapist touched base with me again at 4:30, to let me know that he was writing prolifically. A few hours later, I got another phone call from his unit leader. She said he had written a second letter to us, and had begun eating. She also then mentioned two "non standard" things that had been done for him. He'd asked for a tent to use in the contemplation area, to give him some privacy. They provided one, and he set it up. And, despite the usual practice of not allowing new arrivals to talk during the reflection days, they had a peer mentor who was almost ready for graduation come out to talk to him.

I must say that the constant communication from the facility today has been awesome. And the fact that they are not afraid to modify their usual practices to meet the needs of an individual child demonstrates that they are truly concerned with what best serves each child. I'm still extremely depressed--and hoping I did the right thing--but I'm reassured that the caliber of the people that are looking after him is first rate.

Transport

They arrived promptly at 4 am. Two tall young men who were to escort my unwilling son into his new world--ripping him away from all he had wrapped around himself for comfort.

My husband and I had spent a restless few hours tossing and turning, not really sleeping, as we anticipated their arrival. At 3:52 we were standing in the cold in our driveway, each looking at our part of the speech that our son's therapist had helped us craft earlier in the morning--the words we'd use to explain to him why we were sending him off with strangers in the middle of the night.

The woman we had booked the transport with had assured us that she was sending her "A Team", who would be able to get our son to accompany them without resorting to physical force. The two men who appeared were tall, likeable, and young. We gave them envelopes with paperwork for the facility and the transport agency, and another smaller envelope containing letters we'd written to be given to our son while they were on the road. We explained the layout of our house, and brought them inside.

Our son was sleeping, but woke immediately when we walked in. I gently touched his head, and told him that I loved him, and because of our concerns for his health and safety,and his refusal to get help, we felt we had no choice but to send him to a program that would help him get well. My husband introduced the escorts, and we left the room.

We'd been advised to leave the house, but were concerned that our 18 year old daughter would wake up while this was going on, so we chose to sit in the dark living room downstairs while the escorts convinced our son to go with them. We sat apart, not touching, each lost in our own world of grief. I wept silently while listening to my son plead with them not to "rip me away from my life", "please let me talk to my parents", "why would they do this to me?", and "I'm getting myself together...things are going well...I'm exercising, I have a girlfriend...I've quit smoking...please don't do this."

I have never done anything harder in my life. The school guidance counselor, who has tried valiantly to help our son over the past two years had called what we were contemplating doing "barbaric"...and as I listened to him cry, I felt that she may have been right.

We listened to him progress through anger, denial, and negotiation...all the while the escorts stayed calm, but firm, got him up, down the stairs and out the front door. It seemed like an eternity, but probably only took about 10 minutes.

This was either the most courageous, or the most horrendous, thing I have ever done in my entire life.

Decision

Tolstoy opened Anna Karenina with the line "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." This is our unhappy family's story.

I have a wonderful, kind, bright, talented son who has been depressed since sixth grade. He never felt that he fit in, and once middle school hit, began selecting friends with similar low self esteem, gravitating to dark music, violent video games, and assuming all the trappings of an alternative-drug-using-lifestyle. By the time he was a sophomore in high school, he had been suspended from school twice, was getting high on a daily basis, and was dealing marijuana to support his habit. His cigarette smoking had created a chronic cough, and he'd woken up twice this month coughing up blood. Two weeks ago, he told me that he wished he was dead, and although he was "safe" for now, would probably commit suicide to end the drama. He refused to return to his therapist, and the school suggested we have him evaluated as an inpatient at the local psychiatric hospital.

Obviously, something needed to be done. Our pediatrician suggested a residential treatment facility for troubled teens. I had heard horrible things about these programs--boot camps and wilderness programs that used extreme measures to convince kids to change their ways--with risk of psychological and physical harm. This program appeared to be different--more therapeutic, with an emphasis on reshaping character through experiences...essentially "re-parenting" the child in a way that we couldn't...providing structure, support, and natural consequences to allow the child to rebuild their self-esteem and establish goals for themselves.

After tears and soul searching, we decided we had no choice but to try. Although the thought of being physically separated from my child for 6-9 months is unbearable, I needed to accept that I could no longer help him. As a mother, the best thing I could do for him was to surrender control of my child to others...and pray that I was making the best decision.

Hopefully this story will have a happy ending.