“Happy Birthday”

The words don’t even seem to matter this year. They don’t seem to mean anything. Anything I hoped to say, wished to say, would ever dream of saying left that day. Saying “Happy birthday” just doesn’t seem right. Nothing seems happy, nothing seems right. Being 16 shouldn’t be that hard. Turning 18 shouldn’t happen in the grave…and yet here we are. Trying to put the words “Happy” and “Birthday” in the same sentence on a day that seems anything but.

Happy birthday kid. I wish it were different. I wish, that life was simpler. Easier. Better. I wish that you wouldn’t have been dealt such a crappy hand. That I would have seen sooner. That help would have been there quicker. I wish you would have found peace here. That you didn’t feel this was your only option. I wish. So much.

But mostly I wish that today would be going so much differently.

There just aren’t words.

There never will be.

On what would have been your 18th, on the day you should have been celebrating your freedom…the only thing left to celebrate is that you are no longer trapped.  You are no longer held here.  In a world you fought against for years.  I hope you found some peace.  I really do.  I really hope it was worth it.  I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.  I’m sorry it never will be enough.

The world may forget.  They may not remember.  But I always will.  As hard as I try, I can’t forget you.  I wouldn’t want to.  You may not ever have known how much you changed my life, you may have never seen how much of a difference you made -and it may be too late now, but on what would have been your 18th, I can’t help but wish -if just for a minute -that somehow…you know.  And never forget.

Rising Above

Close to probably five years ago there was a couple I knew. An older couple who had been married for years. Many years. They were, in my mind, the idol of marriage. They were what one should strive to be like. Their attitudes, outlook and perspective on life was something to be desired. About five years ago -the wife landed herself in the hospital. The particulars were hushed, the details were secret and the information private.

I brought them coffee and a news paper every morning, for no reason other than I felt absolutely helpless but wanted to do something. It was a small task that didn’t require much effort on my part -and a task that I didn’t even know if they appreciated.

A few short months later -she passed away.

It was only then that the details slowly began to emerge, details that literally -made me sick to the stomach and made me wonder if bringing coffee and newspapers only made the situation worse. It wasn’t even a few months after she had passed -did he show up at my house with a box of cookies and a card.

A handwritten note from him and his wife -thanking me for the daily coffee and newspapers. The “little bit of normalcy” in their dark days. I remember thinking how -in his deep pain and anguish -he had taken the time to thank me for something so simple and stupid. The task he performed did not go overlooked -simply going to a grocery store to buy something was a task I found to be a challenge at best -even years after my loss. Writing a note -with her name, and delivering it -holding a conversation in which he openly admitted to crying daily…

It is something I will never forget and something that will forever be etched in my mind and heart.

To do something for others is one thing -but to do something for others when you are hurting so badly -is another. It comes from a much deeper part of the heart.

Which is why I decided that instead of drowning in self pity and despair -I am going to choose to do things for others. Even, or especially when, I don’t feel like it. On those days when seeing daylight is so, so hard -I am going to put others first. I am going to do something kind for someone else.

I am going to kick this sadness. I am going to beat this despair.

I might not ever be ok again. I might not ever think of certain things without spiraling downwards.

The hardest thing in my life is knowing that while my life is seemingly out of control and I am completely crushed -there are other people out there. People who are hurting. Just because my heart aches, does not mean the rest of the world has ceased to exist. Instead of giving into my desire to pull the covers over my head and not face the world -I am going to face it head on.

I am going to push through. I am not going to be beat down.

Someone told me once that your life -your words -can have an impact on others. Your simple deeds can hurt someone so badly…or they can help keep someone from the despair of suicide. I am clinging to that hope. Clinging to the tiny shards of hope that maybe -just maybe -my actions will have an impact on others…and if not, at least I am not allowing myself to be swallowed alive -regardless of how badly I want to be.


Taking a Break

Looking back, I often wish I would have written more. More especially during those dark and early days where up and down don’t seem to have an order. The days where you really don’t honestly know if what is happening is real, or if it is all just a big nightmare that one day (hopefully soon) you will wake up from. But living through it, yet again, I have a different perspective. Many times I have sat to write –and come up empty handed. I simply have no words. There are no words. There is nothing that can be said. There simply is, nothing.

The reason I wrote very little wasn’t because there weren’t a million and one things racing through my head, causing train wrecks at every corner, it simply was because there was nothing to be said. While there was plenty going on, plenty of angry thoughts, empty threats and useless words –nothing made sense and nothing would form into thoughts. Sentences. Paragraphs. There was nothing. There is nothing.

Just a bunch of hot and angry thoughts that demand to be answered, yet are deemed unanswerable.

Life is more about living in the moment. Living through the moments. Living for the moments. It isn’t made up of days anymore. In fact, there hardly are days anymore. I don’t know what today is, or what tomorrow is. I have a rough idea that there are days passing by, but not a solid idea on what today is. I rely on others to tell me if there is something of importance that needs to be done, because right now…right today, I am living in moments. Brief snippets of life. Desperately trying to regain something…from absolutely nothing.

I’m taking a break. From life, from writing, from work. From everything. I need some time. Some time to regain my mind, my composure and most importantly…my words.

A few days ago I boarded on an airplane that took me far, far away from that familiar world of mine. After spending hours on an airplane –I landed in a seemingly familiar, yet all too foreign land. A place where I am free to live confused and on a timeless basis. A place where I have no responsibility to the outside world, or an image to withhold. A place that isn’t riddled with questions, and reasons. A place that sees me as I am now –the same as I was before. And not a changed or different, damaged or broken version.

A place where I can truly just be.

Without having to try and string together words. Or make lunches, and deadlines. A place where I don’t have to pretend to be ok –but can honestly just be. Ok or not ok. And no one knows the difference.

One day, I plan to return. To life. To my words. To everything that means the most to me. To the broken land of hurt and pain. To the place where I have to come to terms with what has happened, but until then…until then I choose to embrace the moments. I choose to immerse myself with the unfamiliar, new and adventurous nature that doesn’t come naturally –but pushes me.

I’m not ready to plunge head first into the details of what happened. I’m not strong enough to fight for awareness, or bring attention to the things that happened –regardless of how many lives it may change. I’m just not there yet. One day, I will. I promise that one day –all this will be for something. That this life and this death will not be in vain…but that day…is not today.

Today. I am living in the moment. The moment that says time has no restraints on me. I live by the sun that comes up in the morning and sets by night. I don’t wear a watch, don’t carry a phone and don’t live on my computer. Today, I live. Surrounded by moments that one day –will carry me through the rough realization that this…is not reality. But today. Today I live. In the moments.

One day, Maybe

When I brought her home from the hospital that windy October afternoon, I never imagined what the next two years would hold, or that two years later I would leave the very same hospital with empty arms and an empty heart. I never imagined that I could love her so much that it would hurt so bad when I did leave. I never imagined that so many, many years later -she would wander across my mind and catch me off guard as I remembered the days. The days I spent not with her -but the days spent without her.

The days I spent with her were so short. So few. So far between. The memories I made with her were untainted, and unrecorded. I spent time with her not out of guilt or desire to remember, or because there might be a time when I looked back and would need those times to get through the difficult days. No, I didn’t spend time with her because of fear. The fear that I might not see another day with her. The time was short, but it was untainted, and unforced. It was as natural as it could have been.

As much as I have pushed through the grief and everything associated with it, and come out the other side -there is one piece that follows me around. Life will never be the same, and I have come to accept this fact. I have come to understand that I won’t be the same. I have even become ok with life, and have put my best foot forward in trying to understand the future, and what is involved with it. I have put my head in the game, and for the most part -do a pretty good job at living life. Or so I like to think. But there is one thing that still nags at the back of my mind.

Spending time with the people I care about and love is something that has taken me a long time to come around to. Getting close to people, opening up, talking, sharing, and building relationships is hard. It doesn’t come natural or easy. I constantly wonder if I am screwing up, doing it right, or making an un-fixable mistake. If I spend too much time with someone I wonder if it was the right thing. But not spending time with them leaves me wrecked with guilt imagining a day when I look back and WISH I had spent more time.

I long for those simple, untainted days.

Those days where I didn’t look at someone and want to plead with them to just take a few extra minutes and listen to what their kids are really saying. A day when I can spend time with the kids, and people I love and not have to feel like I am doing it out of duty -or for a rainy blue day.

I wish for that dumb, blind and ignorant view of the world. The one that knows there is danger around every corner -but assumes that somehow, it is for everyone but me. The one that sees sick kids, and only feels a small bit of remorse for what they are going through, and not a full fledged panic attack brought on by the memories of hospitals, machines, and death.

To go back to those days -where life was difficult, frustrating, confusing and hard. The life that made no sense, the life that I was screwing up -yet somehow made work. The life where a smile could make the entire day a little bit better.

Instead I try, in vain, to not be held back. To love without restraint, and live without regret. To be without the guilt and constant reminders. Sometimes it works -and sometimes it doesn’t. Some days I am able to say no without feeling guilty, and other days I am so wracked with the feelings that I could have…should have, done more -that I am unable to say no, and instead say yes, yes, yes -a million times over. As if buying extra candy, spending money I shouldn’t and giving time I don’t have will right all my wrongs. As if trying hard enough today will twist the past -and change the future.

One day maybe.

One day.

Because It Matters

There comes a point in life, I suppose, where you must face reality. No matter how hard that reality may be. There comes a point when you have to hang up all your ideas, hopes, dreams, ideas, and knowledge and admit that perhaps, all along, you have been wrong. You have to abandon your knowledge on what you feel is best, abort the mission that says “As long as you______then things will be ok” and empty yourself of the notion that what you have assumed is right -perhaps, might just be wrong.

Its been a hard week.

Sure, in the whole scheme of things, in the grand plan, in the scope of the year -it hasn’t been that hard. There are worse things. There are harder things. There are things that would really be worse than this. And while I try to tell myself these things, while I try to keep myself from completely splattering all over everyone and everything -it doesn’t always help.

Because I’m still human. Deep down beyond the robot exterior that says “I got this. This will be ok. We will be fine….” my human heart shatters into a million and one pieces and I wonder if I will be able to pick up from this. I mean, I know I will. Because its not the worst thing that could happen, but it still sucks. And I don’t deal with ‘sucks’ all that well.

I try not to put myself in situations that I know won’t end well. I try to avoid places I know will lead to awkward encounters. I try not to stay around one person too long for fear that my nutty underside will come out to play. I try and live life with little exposure. I guard as much as possible. And in all other circumstances -I avoid. It works.

But then there are those moments, those days, those years…those kids. That make you come out a little. Because you can’t raise kids hiding out under the comfort of that rock. You can’t teach them by example to give life all you’ve got when you yourself are afraid of failure. You can’t teach confidence by hiding under a blanket. You can’t teach adventure by living between the four walls of safety. And you can’t teach them how to accept failure and move on -if you don’t learn to accept it yourself.

These lessons tho, they bite.

Perhaps it’s because I had an ideal situation worked out in my mind. Maybe its because of the tunnel vision I so often have. Or maybe it’s just because for once in my life -I thought I was doing the right thing, let down my guard and attempted to live -but that’s what happens when you truly start to live.

I have always said that I would do what is best for the kids. While I have failed at most things in life, I have tried to keep their best interest as the main goal. This isn’t to say that I have succeeded. In fact it might serve better as an open confession to admit that I have not, in fact, succeeded in this area. Regardless of my attempts.

Somehow, all along, I have blindly assumed that if I could just keep the kids together -they would have a fighting chance at this world.

And then things sort of fell apart.

When Dylan first started showing signs of having problems in the areas that he is, I had this vision of a day in the future where he would eventually come home -cured. Cured from what? From life, of course. That somehow sending him off to the “specialists” would equip him with the ability to handle life and once again -everyone would be together and things would be alright. Because I am nothing if not goal driven.

But with each weekly visit it became more and more apparent that he needed more than someone to talk to. He needed more than medication. More than a slap upside the head. He needed more. But what? Looking back, I guess I can see now that the hints at “Not being able to find him help” were more for me to make the connecting thoughts. The connecting thoughts that weren’t connected until yesterday afternoon when I got a phone call.

A phone call from well meaning, good people. People who have their heads on straight. People who at one point I thought had no idea what they were doing -yet were apparently the only ones that knew what they were doing. Because when they said “We only want to be the grandparents” what they really meant was “We want to take a few years to gather our thoughts and enable ourselves to be there for our grandchildren when you screw this all up.”

Hearing the truth, is hard. Admitting that what you have worked for, year after countless year is wrong -is hard. Accepting that this is the best -regardless of what YOU want? Is even harder. The only thing that makes it doable is by knowing that this? This is the best for him. This is what he needs. He will “Benefit from a better family / lifestyle.”

It’s really kind of hard to say, with words -just how it all hits. How it crumbles. Where it lands. It hits hard, it crumbles perfectly and lands somewhere in the middle of that endless, gaping hole. It comes full circle. Makes perfect sense. And will be ok.

Because they are right. And they have always been right. They have just been kind enough to give me a few years to try and figure it out on my own: That I really can’t do this. That it really is hurting them. That this. Needs to happen. For his sake.

And while it’s hard to hear. Difficult to grasp. And painful to come to terms with -I know its true.

Because the truth? It hurts.

It hurts deep.

But it will be ok. Because for once, I feel like I am doing the right thing.

I am letting go.  Because it matters.



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.




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.

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.

Dylan –

I don’t even know…what to say or where to start. As if I’m writing to the future, I want to beg that it doesn’t go where its heading. That by some small miracle, things will turn around. As if writing from my past – I want to scream to STOP. I see the problem, I see the trouble, but I don’t know how to turn it around and go the other way. I yell but no one hears, I cant get the words to come out like I want, to say what I want, to mean what I want – because I don’t even know what I am trying to say except STOP. Just. Stop.

This isn’t about me. And as often as I remind myself of that, I still find my selfish thoughts and wants getting in the way. I see much of the people I don’t want to become, coming out of me. And as much as I just want to STOP it all – I cant. I see the pain, and the frustration, and the anger and as much as I want to just slap it out – I cant. Because it isn’t about me. It isn’t about me fixing this, or making it ok. It isn’t about me making the choice, or not. It isn’t about me. Yet I cant seem to remove that from the equation.

Everywhere I turn, someone has the answers. The fool proof solution. The “This is it!” about everything. But I cant seem to put my faith in them. I cant trust them with this. I have trusted people before – and have come up empty handed. But once again…its not about me.

I don’t know what to say, or how to say it. I understand, to an extent but not enough to know what to do or how to help. I’m left staring stupidly waiting for the punch line, because I really just don’t see it. I mean I do? But I don’t. I cant. I cant get myself to accept it.

There are the things I want to say – the things that are supposed to be the right things. Things like “its ok” and “it will all work out” and “this will help.” Open ended answers that leave room for wiggle. But they just don’t seem like the right things to say. How can they be? If it were ok – we wouldn’t be here. If it would work out – this wouldn’t be happening. And if that would help? Then why am I sitting here trying hopelessly to find some answers.

I never claimed to understand it all, I never said I had all the answers. Never said I knew what I was doing, or where we were going. I never claimed it would be ok. I just hoped. Hoped that this would be the right answer to everything, and jumped in with everything because there was nothing left to do. I threw myself at the problem because there was nothing left TO throw and I hoped with everything I had left to hope with that it would be the right answer.

And there for a while – it seemed like it was.

For a while – it seemed like it was working.

And it seemed like everything would be ok.

How blind hope can be. Underneath the pretense of hope, and everything being ok – there was this. This problem, this doubt, this frustration, this anger. And not wanting to believe that it was there, I blindly accepted the hope and moved on. In hindsight I can see this now. But seeing a problem, knowing how to fix it, and actually fixing it – are completely different things. And I am not skilled in any of the areas.

We are back to square one. Left with two options, each holding a bag of pros and cons themselves. And while neither one looks very promising, I have to do the only thing I know how to do. And that is fight. And never stop. Because while it might not be the right thing, while it may end up going south, and while I may be met with a lot of hesitation, argument and “I told you so’s” at least I will be able to rest in the fact that I didn’t give up.

You might be wanting me to. Everyone seems to think that this is the best option. Let you learn to sink or float, make you realize some hard truths for yourself, stop bailing you out, and walk away. But I cant. And while I know this isn’t about me, I made a promise to never walk away. To never give up. And to never stop fighting, until there was nothing left to fight for. And while you might not realize it at this moment, while your mind me just be too full to completely understand this – you ARE worth fighting for.

I don’t mind if you are mad at me, I don’t even mind if you hate me. I don’t care if you resent me for the rest of your life for this. But I will never stop fighting for you, and I will never give up on you. I hope that someday you are able to take the fight over – that long after these hard days of uncertain circumstances have passed, you are able to pick up and carry on yourself.

No, it might not be the right decision. It might not be what you want, it might not even be what is recommended for you. But right now, its all we have. And while I cant promise you that everything will be ok, that life will go as planned and that you will succeed in everything you ever try – I can promise that with some hard work, and a little luck – it might just be worth it.

You may have given up, you may not see anything worth seeing right now but until you can you need to know that I will never give up on you, and I will never stop fighting for you even if you don’t see that. I know that right now you are looking for whatever you can to argue your case. That you will use whatever you can. And that’s ok. Get mad, but realize that by getting mad – you aren’t dead inside, there is still something there that cares and wants to fight.

Just because you have given up, does not mean everyone else ready for you to give up too. Hang in there kiddo, one day I promise you will look back and say that I might not be right, but I told you so.

It Just Has To Be

This afternoon we assembled in court. Normally I would have a few weeks to panic about it. Rehearse my lines, and hash out the what ifs. I had a few days to try and remember the day and not miss the time. I didn’t have time to panic this morning, didn’t have time to rehearse or hash. It just was.

He looked tired. Defeated. Flattened. His eyes were dull, there was no smile, no spunk, no life.

Court was to determine if he would have a place to stay in town, or if he would be sent out of town for help that would be more fitting.

It’s not a place in life I ever expected to see, and seeing him flattened and so tired looking was not something I was prepared for. Even if I had time to rehearse, panic and prepare – that wouldn’t have been on the list. Seeing him completely give up on life, not just mentally but physically and emotionally, was harder than I would have expected, if I would have been expecting it.

Few words were exchanged. The atmosphere was more solemn than I am used to in regards to him. Even the last visit that ended with him yelling and screaming –gave some hope. At least he was fighting. At least he had something in him that made him want to fight –even if it was to fight against the help. Fighting. Is good. And today, there was none of that.

I busied myself this evening with everything I could. I told myself that as long as he was there –he was safe, and I didn’t need to worry. And it worked. Until I sat down, and the reality of everything came rushing in.

For once, I want to grab him and run off to some magical land where everything is just ok. I want to tell him to fight, dammit. I want to intentionally make him mad –just to see something. Anything. I want to tell him that he HAS to fight. I don’t know why, he just does. Because it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he gets to give up. As selfish as that sounds, it’s just not.

I want to tell him that he doesn’t GET to give up. That he HAS to fight, for reasons I just can’t explain. I want to tell him that it will be ok –even though I don’t know for sure how, I just know it will be because it has to be. Because it just does.

I want to make him realize that while life does suck – it can get better. It will get better. It has to. I don’t know how, it just does. Because this isn’t fair. To him. To anyone. I hate to see anyone suffer, but to watch someone so close to you, someone that means so much to you – struggle to the point where they simply cannot fight anymore, is just hard.

It has to be ok. For no reason other than it simply just has to be.