Coming Back

I have yet to figure out how to stumble down the lane of “What to say, and what not to say.” It’s one of my weaknesses. I will tell you that much. While my words fail me, often, and usually when I need them the most, I am accustomed to saying what I want, when I want and how I want. So it may seem strange, coupled with the fact that ½ my income comes from writing –that words are evading me lately.

Then again –it might not seem strange. I really don’t know anymore.

The thoughts that flood my mind are not those of conversation starters, and rather would be classed somewhere, firmly, I believe in the camp of “Conversation killers: What not to say.” It’s just a theory tho, I could be wrong. I have been before.

A little over three weeks ago I threw my hands in the air, boarded a plane –and 18+ hours later landed in a foreign country. You see, that to me –is easy. I can plan, arrange, schedule and prepare for a trip across the world in less than two weeks. But I cannot, for the life of me, find the words to sum up, accurately, without stepping on any toes, offending people, or scaring my own words into hiding, just what the thoughts are that race through my head these days.

Some would call me foolish. Stupid. Insane. Those are words I am ok with. Words I am comfortable with. I know how to be foolish. I can be stupid. And Insane is fun at times. But the real stuff? The downright hard, nitty gritty that keeps most up at night yet bores me to sleep every time I consider pondering it (coping much?)? Well that sends me into a tailspin.

Maybe it was foolish, stupid, and insane. It probably was. But traveling to be is my reason. Most have a reason: Their family, their job, career, future. Things that will go somewhere, mean something, give something back to the world. Me? My reason is traveling. Which is truly ironic. But is. It just is.

I thought maybe at some point on the trip –my words would return, but by the time the days had come to an end, writing was the last thing I wanted to do, but the only thing I had to do which meant that the only writing I did was for work. And a travel book I keep just to document the insane moments of the day. Most pages are filled with angry rants about who annoyed me that day. But it all means something. To someone.

To round the trip off I spent the night visiting the kids before flying home to greet reality head on.

It sucks, in many ways, returning.

But it must be done.

Reality needs facing. Things need done.

And as much as I don’t want to write about it: Things need said. Hard things. Things that I dread saying for fear of making them any more real than they already are. Because somehow not saying them will make them that less true. And maybe if I can distract myself with all things lovely, this too will pass.

So back to reality. Back to writing. Back to facing this life that is very much mine, and very much real no matter how very much not I try to make it be.

I need to write.

I need to write for myself. For my sanity. For my release. Because as much as travel is my reason, writing is my release. And reason and release go hand in hand.

I have long since said that the reason I don’t write as much anymore is because I have reached a point where the things that impact my life, are not mine to tell. The kid’s lives are very much their own, and I is not mine to intertwine with. And as much as I want this small paragraph to be true: I have discovered it is just a cover.

A cover to hide the unbearable, and unthinkable. A mask that will hide what I don’t want to uncover. To conceal those things that are so real that I wish them not to be, and instead look to the shiny things in life and attempt to forgo the fact that there are very real, very hard problems. And while looking at the shiny things is great, there is a balance. And I need to re-strike that balance, and write.

Because the only reason I don’t want to write has very little to do with unveiling some secrets that will destroy the kid’s lives, or upheaval the paths they are on. And has everything to do with me not wanting to face reality, and choose to believe that hiding is the best option.

It’s time to strike that balance, find the courage and face the reality that is very much mine. No matter how pleasant or unpleasant it may be.

But until then, I will look to the shiny things in life, and remember an amazing three weeks that easily rate as some of my favorite.




Ten Years Deep

Ten years ago,  I spent my day in complete denial.

I spent the day posted at the bedside of someone who never made it on national TV.  I spent the day cuddled up beside a small person the world knew nothing about.  A person who didn’t change the hearts of thousands, or stir up emotions in millions.  She was what most would call just another number, another drop in the bucket, another one of the seemingly endless statistics.

But she meant the world and more to me.

I don’t know why ten seems like such a monumental number.  Like I have reached the top of the summit I have been scaling and can finally breath.  As if ten is the magic number that will somehow make everything ok again.  As if ten, the number, in and of itself -has something to offer.

When in truth, it doesn’t.  Ten doesn’t mean anything different.  The year doesn’t mean everything will suddenly change, or that things will somehow, forever and always be ok.

Nine years ago, I spent the day waiting in anticipation for the magical release.

The approaching of ‘the day’ was agonizing.  Waiting in anticipation for the calendar to turn over another day, and somehow release me from the pain was almost more than I could take, and while the day itself was not that difficult – the days following, were.  Because there was no magic release.  There was no cure.  There was no magic ok.  All there was to look forward to were many more days, many more years, and many more unbearable moments where life seemed like the worst kind of torture possible.

Those were the only years that I had great expectations from.

The years in between were years I spent learning.  Learning that there is no magic number that will make everything ok.  Learning that some years are ok – and some years aren’t.  Learning that life in and of itself is not all tragic, but there are some bumpy moments along the way.  And learning that over the course of a long period of time, that intense, deep, burning from the very depths of your soul – will ease.

The pain that is felt when you lose a child, is a pain that cannot be explained.  It is a hole that cannot be filled.  An emptiness that will never be explained.  And a wound that will never be completely, healed.  Living life without the one you expect to be there, forever, is not something I ever expected to do.  And trying to muddle my way through the murky waters was something I had no idea how to do, or why I should even bother doing it.

These past few years aren’t all years that I have been proud of.

While its true, that I wish I could go back just a little over ten years ago – and erase everything that happened and change the outcome, I can’t.  While I wish I could trade places with my daughter, and let her experience life to its fullest, I can’t.  There isn’t anything I wouldn’t have done to save her life.

But she isn’t here.  And I am here.

I have made it ten years, doing the hardest thing I never though I could do.

While I would have chosen a different way of life, one that included my daughter, I can’t.

As we approach ten years, I am forced to realize that this is my life now.  And outside of changing the tragic happenings of ten years ago – I wouldn’t change the rest.

I have lived through the unimaginable pain of loosing my daughter.  I have fought to be where I am today, and while I am not proud of every moment -I am still here, despite loosing her.  If I were able to say these past ten years were easy, it would mean that I didn’t struggle, I didn’t miss, I didn’t question.  It would mean that I didn’t try every single road, avenue and option -before realizing that this was my life now.  Without her.  It would mean that I picked up and moved on with ease.  When that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Its impossible to think that living after a loss as devastating as this, that life would be easy.  To live life like nothing happened – would be to live life as if she didn’t exist.

As hard as it has been, I would rather live knowing that she was a part of my life, and embrace the pain and sorrow as a small reminder of someone who made my life just that much better -than to forgo the pain, and forget her.

Despite the pain, and sorrow -I have managed to make it ten years, and have come out with a better appreciation for life, and deeper love for those around me.  I still miss her, but ten years in I am able to say that deep burning from unexplainable depths -has eased.  It will never be completely erased, but I have chosen to go on smiling, loving and laughing -as I imagine she would have done, if given the chance.


I still miss you little one, and love you with everything I have -please don’t forget.

Happy 16th Birthday

With less than 45 minutes remaining of your birthday, I am still not entirely sure I should even right anything. As if somehow, not writing will make it all disappear. Yet I am hopeful that one day – this too will be a distant memory that somehow manages to grow you into the person you are trying to become, despite what life is throwing your way.

I won’t claim to understand what you are going through, even though to an extent, I do understand. Understanding. It’s not what you need. You don’t need someone to listen to you, someone to yell at you, or someone to tell you it’s all going to be ok. To be completely honest, I am not entirely sure if what you need is something I can give you. You are missing so much of your life – that I don’t know it will be possible for me to fully give you what you need.

Whoever they are, always warned that the easy ones – would become difficult later on in life, yet somehow I chose to believe that if we could just make it one more year…

Here we are on your 16th birthday, and I can’t help but cringe. You aren’t celebrating with your friends. You aren’t at home. In fact, you aren’t even around people you know. As hard as it has been to make the decision, I am just hoping, with everything that I have left – that this was the right choice. The last choice, but the right choice.

I’m hopeful that your next year will be much brighter, and more promising. Even though it has been a difficult few months, I can’t ignore the fact that you are still a bright kid who’s no longer a kid. I can’t ignore the nagging thoughts that when (not if) you return, you won’t be a child. You left a 15 year old boy, and will come back a 16 year old. Two years from being an official adult.

You already know that life isn’t easy – but this year, I think what you need to hear the most, even though I know you don’t want to hear it, is that life can be worth living. It isn’t always dark. Sure, there are dark days, dreary weeks, and long months that seem to never end…but if you manage to make it through those moments, you will see that there are brighter days waiting.

I hope that you know how important you are to us, and how much you are loved. You are a big part of our lives, and we miss your presence, your humor and everything that you add to this world. I know it won’t be easy for you – going through these next couple of months, but I am hopeful that you will return with a brighter outlook, and a desire to rejoin us here – living.

Happy 16th birthday, I know this probably isn’t how you expected to spent your 16th birthday. I know it’s not how I expected to see you spend it.

Hang in there kiddo,

– Your Uncle

I Hope…

I don’t know if it’s the right thing.  I don’t know that I will ever know.

But then again, I have never claimed to know what was right, and what was wrong when it comes to these kids.  I have tried, desperately, to give them everything I could with hopes that someday it would be enough.  That maybe by them having each other – they would somehow be able to overcome the odds that were thrown at them, and by some miracle – they would come out the other side, mostly unscathed.

As people dance around singing songs, tossing tinsel in the air, and decorating trees, I cling the hope that shrinks almost daily – that this is the right thing.

This weekend, I attempted, in vain, to go all out holiday with Josh.  We hung lights, burned cookies, and attempted other assorted holiday traditions.  To no avail.  After a midnight fight, I put him to bed – pulled the covers over my own head and wished it all away.  No matter how hard I try, it seems there is always something out there that is just that much stronger waiting to take me down.

I try to pick myself up with thoughts such as “Things could be worse” or “Things HAVE been worse.”  But those thoughts are always argued with “Things WILL get worse” and instead of picking myself up, I only manage to de-motivate myself from even trying – because really, why bother?  With an attitude like that, I won’t get far, and can’t expect anyone else to get far either.  And so as the day breaks, I pull the covers off my head and face yet another day.

A month and ½ ago, it was a very possible option that I could have been planning yet another funeral.  A thought I refused to let enter my mind at the time because I couldn’t let go of that tiny sliver of hope.  A month and ½ later and I never did have to plan that funeral.  I never did have to say good-bye, but because of that – I have to say good-bye in a different sense.  I have to go against everything that FEELS right, and SEEMS good and go with that gut instinct that this HAS to be right.

Sending a child away in the middle of the holiday season just seems to scream all kinds of wrong.  Sending him to a place that I have never seen, to deal with things that I can’t even image, and come out on the other side -is something I can only cringe about.  No, its not easy.  Its not a holiday away.  Its not a happy trip, or something I would have ever hoped for him to be doing.  But it’s the only option that seems to have a positive outcome.

If not this, then what?

My mind wants to play the “What if” and “When” and “How” games.  It wants to tackle the issues of when he comes home, and how will he adjust, and what if it doesn’t work.  It wants solid answers, 100% guarantees, and maybe a warranty that if this doesn’t work – something else will.  But I can’t offer the guarantee to myself, because there is none.  There is a very good possibility this won’t work.  There is a very good chance that it wont help.  There is a good chance that when he comes back – we will be right back where we started.

But there is also the chance that it does work.  That it does help.  That the tiny sliver of hope that was alive a month and ½ ago, will be there waiting to get another workout.  And that by some miracle – this will be the answer.

While I want nothing more than to bring him home, tell him that everything will be ok – and go about celebrating the holidays WITH him, I can’t.  I can’t give him the false hope that things will be ok.  I can’t go about pretending that things are ok, and turning a blind eye to problems because I don’t like talking about them.  I can no longer go about pretending that life is easy, and everyone is happy…

Because the blunt honest truth that no one likes to hear?  The part about 15 year olds trying to end their own lives?  They don’t make very good holiday stories.  They don’t make the movie channel, and bring out the warm fuzzy feelings.  But they are life.  And life sucks sometimes.  But there isn’t any other option – then to keep on mucking along.  If for nothing else, to show those you love who are struggling, and hurting, and barely hanging on – that you are there waiting.  Right beside them.  And will be there until they are ready to move on.

I just hope its enough.

The Words

“Sometimes there are things that you can’t see, that wreck a child long before you even know it.” The words piece my heart, and threaten to shatter what little dignity I still have remaining. She continues, unaware of how her words, though they be true – are gut punches, and heart slicers. She doesn’t know the full story, doesn’t know the scope of everything that has happened – she is basing her assumption on something she has been taught, something she has read, something that only years of experience can.

I have learned over the years that you don’t have to tell all of your secrets, and hidden truths – to know someone. Its ok to keep things hidden, in the past, buried alive and forgotten. Until its just not.

There is no easy way to say it, and no easy way to admit it. There are no words that can tell everything in a nice way with a happy ending and a giant red bow to match the season. There just isn’t. I am tired of repeating the story. The details. The what happened. The time lines. I’m tired of answering the same questions, over and over, with no answers in return for my dutiful responses. If I’m tired, I can only assume he is exhausted.

A few weeks ago he expressed frustration over not being here for thanksgiving. He gave a slim glimmer of hope that he was thinking ahead, and feeling sadness over missing a tradition. The following night he mused about using a utensil to carve up the fresh scars on his arms.

The ups and downs.

They toss around dates, and congregate together discussing the best options – especially this time of year. This time of year that is supposed to be the hap-happiest time of year. But only leaves me with a hard knot and the feelings of dread. I hate to be the downer, but there just isn’t much there this year. I can only force that fake smile so many times before crawling under the covers and emerging sometime next century sounds like a little slice of heaven.

While most people are planning and plotting, talking about trees, and lights, cookies and presents – I am mentally trying to calculate how many days until he leaves, how many days he will be gone, and how many days until my heart will literally explode because I just do not have the options, or the answers I need.

And then the words.

The words that tell me what I already know, just don’t want to admit fully. The words that bring everything full circle, and complete the pattern of life. The words that say it all.

“Sometimes there are things that you can’t see, that wreck a child long before you even know it.”

Is there even any hope that there will be a slight glimmer of hope in the future?

Happy Thanksgiving

Quite frankly, the holiday season and I have never gotten along.  I can only stand so much of the holly jolly-ness of it all before I start to lose whatever spirit I had.  By the time they are all said and done, I pretty much am just ready to pack up all that wrapping papers, ribbon and bows – stuff it all in a bag and move on.  Because lets face it – the holidays, they never seem to end.  Until they do.  And then they are gone.

I have been called scrooge more than once, simply because I just don’t like to spend money on impulse items that never make it past the weekend.  I hate gathering around, forcing a smile, while eating food that I really don’t like.  I can take the songs and the movies – for a day or two, but after that its turn back on the loud and wild stuff that makes people cringe.  What can I say?

This year I have made a conscious effort to try and go out of my way to HOPEFULLY make this a good year for the kids.  Or, kid.  As it is in our case this year.  But today, I woke up, and felt like all of whatever holiday spirit HAD been there, was completely drained.

But its too late to back out.  I have already agreed to a hundred and one things I really do not want to do.  I have to make a ham.  I have to drive a billion and one miles to spend the day with people I don’t know, and am not even sure I want to know.  I have to force a smile.  I have to pretend I like everyone’s cooking.  That I like the house.  The people.  The smells.

And when its all said and done, I have to say thank you and drive another billion miles to share the rest of the day with the other kid who is locked up with his peers, awaiting the flight out of here.  Which is all a story for another day.  And yet another thing that takes the holiday spirit down about a hundred notches.  Because the stark contrast of the day will be just that.

Me.  And them.

Us.  And the others.

A few hours spent forcing smiles, laughing, eating and drinking until we roll ourselves out of the house vowing to never eat so much food again…before walking up the steps to a house filled with kids who have done something stupid in their young lives, and been placed in a home because no one really knows what or how to deal with them.

There will be families I don’t know, yet am connected with an invisible cord because we are all walking down this road of many different paths together.  There will be fake smiles, for sure.  But there will also be the stark reality of what is truly happening.  The underlying, no denying – we are spending thanksgiving with our kids, who are wandering the dangerous edges of life.

Sure.  We are thankful.  Thankful that he was found when he was found.  Thankful for hospitals, and doctors.  Thankful for therapist.  Thankful for medications, and people who know so much more than me.  Thankful for another chance that seems so utterly terrifying.  Thankful.  That I didn’t have to say good-bye, yet again.  Thankful for the terrifying chance to do it all over again.  Thankful, yet scared.  Petrified.  Terrified.

I will spend the day with people I do not know, because I want that sense of normalcy.  That slice of happiness.  That “this could have been.”  Because I like to torture myself with all such things impractical.  I will spend the day with them because back when the holiday spirit was alive and well, I agreed to come.  To cook what I was asked, and arrive at the time suggested.

I will avoid questions that make me cringe, and drive the conversation towards others.  I will smile, a lot.  And laugh, at the most inappropriate times – because that’s how I roll in awkward social settings.  I will hold my breath and hope with everything in me that someone doesn’t have a melt down.  And then, when the time is right and we have over stayed our visit – we will leave.

And spend the rest of our time in a home.  With one boy who I thought I knew, but really don’t.

And then we will go home, cook our own turkey, turn out the lights and go to bed early.  And be thankful.  That for at least another day – we have the chance to fake it, until we make it.

The Latest in Therapy

He grumps his way through the morning, obviously something is a miss, but with the way things have been going lately, I can’t really blame him.  I try to help him avoid conflict, but at some point during the day, be it the socks, the cereal, the position of the rain – its inevitable.  He’s going to have himself a break down.  A full blown break down.  The ones that come when everything has just been piled on, higher and higher – until the smallest of things can break it.

I understand these kinds of break downs, and so I carefully navigate the confusion of the day with him.  Trying to give him the tools he might need to combat it himself, not wanting to overwhelm or smother him, but not wanting to leave him at it alone either.

Sometimes, I tell myself, it can work both ways.  The small things can help, and they can also break the entire day.  In today’s case, the small things broke the day.  The pressure of having to not only get dressed this morning, but go out of the house was too much, and by the time we made it to school – I knew it wouldn’t be long until I got called back.  That gut feeling, they call it.  I suppose.

Maybe I should have just taken him home and let him have the day off.  After all it has been a hectic, crazy few weeks and I know he too, is struggling.  With way more than anyone else knows.  I know he is trying to process things, and his mind is working overtime to try and make sense of the confusing, complicated world that he lives in.  And sometimes – it just doesn’t make sense.  But not wanting to give him a “way out” and wanting him to “face things” and hopefully be able to work through, I walked him in.

I filled his teachers in, and walked off as he pleaded with his eyes – for me not to leave.  I whispered that it would be ok, to have a good day.  Then slipped out while mentally begging for his day to just go ok.  I didn’t need his day to be stellar, or fantastic.  Just ok.  For my words to actually come through.  That by telling him it would be ok, that maybe, for once – it would be.

A few hours later, when I got the call that I was already expecting – I picked him up.  Tears staining his face, hair ruffled, fidgety and panicking.  Obviously…his day was not ok.  Because sometimes, the day just ends up not going good.  And the small things – his classmate said hello, someone sat too close, it was too loud, too bright, too itchy, too hot, and too cold -become too much.

I took him home, helped him out of his pants, and watched as he scurried for his bed.  He didn’t climb in, but instead under.

It’s the life we live.

It’s the way we are.

It’s how we roll.

When the day is just too much, the comforting things are in the dark, cool corners of the room – under the bed away from the world.  Pants are optional, but not preferred.

I called a babysitter, gave some last minute advice on not trying to coax him out, to give him space and when or if he came out – to just take it easy.  He’s had a long week.

When I came home, he had found his way out from under his bed, but hadn’t ventured far.  Feet up the wall, lying on his back, humming to himself as he traced imaginary figures in the air with one hand, and the other firmly planted in his mouth.  He didn’t look up when I came in.  He didn’t seem to notice, or have a care in the world.  He was in his world.

His world, where everything I assume, is just how it should be.  There aren’t too many people, too many noises, too much light, too much color.  His world is just the way it should be, how it should be, with everything just right.

As I look at him, pressed against the wall, I had a hundred and one thoughts flood through my mind.  Instinctively I wanted to feel sorry for him, for myself, for this life.  For everything that has gone wrong.  Instinctively, I wanted to scream and yell, and throw myself down there with him and yell that I just wanted it to be ok – nothing more, nothing less.

But instead I took another look.

He was calm.  He was happy.  He was peaceful.  He was content.

No, he didn’t have pants on.  At ten years old, he still occasionally sucks his fingers for comfort.  He pressed himself hard against the wall and hummed a tune only he knows.  His mind was probably running a million different ways.  He probably ran out of tears hours before, and most likely was exhausted from chasing away the millions of thoughts and emotions that flood him day in and day out – but he was happily tracing imaginary figures in the air.

He wasn’t scared.  Wasn’t fighting.  Wasn’t stressing.  Wasn’t in a panic.  He may just be onto something, this kid.

So if you happen to come over, and see me – laying on the floor tracing imaginary shapes in the air with no pants on – just know, I’m ok.

We’re ok.

It’s all just about how you look at it, I suppose.

The Reason Why

I understand the pain. The immense soul sucking sadness that will not leave. The kind that leaves you crying for death itself to take you in the night, and leaves you cursing the morning sun. I get it. I understand it. I know it. And perhaps that is what scares me the most. The knowing. The understanding of just how far and how deep, and how intense the pain is. That knowing that there is nothing I can do to ease it, or take it away, or change the minds of the ones dealing with it.

Not that many years ago, I too, was on the receiving end. The end that said death seemed welcoming. But death itself was too kind, and instead it was hell on earth until I figured out a way to fight back. And continue fighting. Because lets face it – this kind of pain, this wicked evil feeling of wanting nothing more than death, doesn’t just go away. Its there, no matter how long it has been – willing its way back into your life.

But seeing it in someone you love? Is perhaps harder than dealing with it yourself. Because you know.

You know that there is no way out except through. And you know that through is a journey you wouldn’t wish on anyone. You know that while the other side is better than where you were, the journey often closes in around you and there seems to be no way out. That when darkness is all that surrounds you, and there is no light of day to warm that terrible chill that settles somewhere way beyond your bones, you begin to seek those thoughts that you thought you left at the beginning.

Except you haven’t. And they will follow you all the way to the bitter end.

The internets lately, are seething with pain. And maybe its because I am in a place where the only the saddest of stories appeal to me, because I can relate. Because when you are in an area in life where everything seems to hurt, you don’t actively seek out those who are happy – but rather those who are in the trenches, slinging slime just like you. Because at least then, you aren’t alone. I haven’t had to look far. My reader oozes with pain and sadness from around the world and often leaves me wondering if there IS any good left in the world.

Or maybe its simply because I am looking for someone to say what I am feeling, with better words. Because words seem to fail me. As they always do. When I need them most.

It’s not ever a place in life I thought I would be. And its not really a place in life I care to be now. But as I have learned, so many, many times – it doesn’t matter what you want. It doesn’t matter where you wish to be, how you wish to live, who you wish to be like – you just are.

It’s hard, to find the words that I want, to sum up what I don’t want. It’s hard to verbalize just what is going on. In one sense, I think that if maybe I ignore it, don’t acknowledge it, it wont get a foot hold again. Yet on the other hand, I know that if I don’t acknowledge it, my mind will run miles before it comes home again. I’m not writing tonight, to make sense. I’m not writing to tell a story, or document an event. I’m just writing because I don’t know what else to do, and writing has always been that thing for me.

I’m writing to keep myself from that place, while trying to help others in that place, and somehow get us through these terrible bone chilling winters that seem to come all too early, and all too frequent.

Someone once told me to never ask the reason why. To not attempt to find the answer. And while I have always believed there is an answer, to the question why…I’m beginning to think, that perhaps, for once, there really isn’t.

There Just Isn’t

Maybe it’s the time of year, maybe it’s the stress, the time of day, lack of sleep, constant needs or road blocks that seem to be up at every turn I make.  But this morning, long after the kid woke me up, way after I should have been up, I turned the alarm clock off -for the third time, and rolled over.  My get up and go, has got up and left without me.  And today there was nothing more that I wanted to do than pull the blankets over my head and just forget that the world out there existed.

I calculated how long I could actually stay in bed, without being noticed, and the thoughts made me cringe.  I had until lunch time, before someone would actually start complaining.  I had until about 3 before someone started calling.  I had until dinner time before someone would come looking.  Looking for food, for help, for comfort, for answers.  My mind flipped between two very dark places – either getting up, or staying in bed.

The former won.

As it always does.  And always will.  Because giving up just never seems to be an option for me.

I’ll be the fool still standing here as the world crumbles around and no one else exists.

I didn’t push any issues that I normally would.  Didn’t argue with the fact that someone would only eat at a snails pace, putting us out the door ten minutes late.  I didn’t argue when the same someone didn’t want to wear a coat, and didn’t want to wear shoes, and really didn’t want to wear clothes in general.  I didn’t try and convince him -like most mornings, that clothes were needed, shoes important, and a coat would be for his benefit.  Instead I listened to his whining, and did it anyways.

He was late to school, and while I got an ear full about being on time, I watched as he dropped his items, one by one, as he made his way down the hall, wondering how long the pants would stay on today.  Because with comfort, comes problems.  And in his situation -when he is comfortable, the pants come off.  Its been a while since we have had the public inspect his underwear, but its coming.

My mind didn’t even argue with myself when I realized I was out of good coffee, and had to settle on cheap, pre-ground, expired coffee that sits unused in the back cupboard for days like today.  Days when: it just doesn’t seem to matter.  Days when one more thing will break it.  Days when the blankets seem like the only thing keeping me from loosing whatever mind I have left.  Days where getting up is harder than giving up.

But for reasons unknown: perhaps the looming deadlines, the dinner interruptions, the homework helps, the nagging presence of dirty dishes -I get up.  For just one more day.  I push the dark thoughts aside, and reason with myself that one more day wont make or break it.  I decide that instead of wondering how I got here, maybe I should ask how am I going to get out of here, even though that thought sends chills down my spine because I DO NOT KNOW, at least it’s a thought that will be productive, and lead me towards the future, instead of to the past.

The past that seems oh so inviting and comforting.  The past that yells from the dark shadows.  Taunting, teasing, testing.

I know the bad days don’t last forever, but I am also very aware that the good days are even shorter lived.  I know that the bad days are right around the corner from the good days, and that thought is enough to drive me back.  Back as far as I can go to somehow untangle this mad mess of confusion I have landed myself in.  To somehow undo everything that has caused today to be like it is.  To somehow get me away from where I am today.

To keep me from signing papers, and ignoring the words, and doing what I HOPE is best.

Because at the end of the day, there really is nothing.

There is no hope.

There is no concrete answer that going through ALL of this, will lead to the best results.  There are no proven facts that anything I do, will be worth anything, ever.  There is no one saying that I have to be out of bed in the morning, and there is no one that will come looking until dinner time -if only for their own needs.

There is no solid answer.  There just.  Isn’t.