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.