... the Twilight Zone.
My mom brought Corey over to collect some things today. Pieces of his heart and pieces of mine were on the floor. He did not ask to come home. If he had I don't know what I could have said or done.
Instead, I handed him some toiletries and freshly laundered clothes. I gave my mom some cash to offset her expenses. Corey says he will be following up at Job Corps. By Tuesday we should have a sense of the next step.
Mad was in bed for her nap, but not sleeping when they arrived, so Tom brought her down for Grammy and especially for Brother. It's hard to say for sure if she refused to go near him at first only out of the fickleness of a two year old's heart. I rather doubt it. Corey clearly did, too. Mad has since birth had what we've called her pre-approved list. It's four people long, and Corey has always been able to be close to her. She did warm up as he was walking away, trying to keep the tears in his eyes.
When we went through a similar experience last year, it was right before Tom and I found out we did not have a viable pregnancy. Corey's meltdown, in comparison to last week, was somewhat milder. And this time we are not dealing with a chemical pregnancy; we are all simply sick with another (freaking!) nasty cold. So the accompanying but unrelated pain, if you will, is significantly less, but the problem with Corey is larger. I'm not asking for trade-offs or any other type of wishful thinking beyond wishing Corey could somehow undo what he's done. It's just that my mind sees these odd connections. I see that I'm rambling.
As you may or may not recall, I am not a religious or praying sort of person. For a long time I called myself "spiritual" because it eased the minds of others more than anything else I could offer. I'm not entirely sure I'm spiritual either. I looked into a Unitarian Universalist church up here and was interested in everything but the spiritual aspects. I mention this because I am not asking for prayers, but I could sure use something...
Showing posts with label Bad day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bad day. Show all posts
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
So Now the Truth Is Out
I have very much appreciated the sweet assumptions that I'm a great and wonderful mother lately. On my best day I'm not sure how true that is. These are not my best days.
Most of my blog has a glaring void. You do not find much of my son on these pages. Part of that comes from the fact that toddlers and babies are just naturally easier to write about without worrying if they'd like it or not. Funny thing is, Tom is my only family member who knows about this blog. Of my almost tens of followers, I know two in real life but see one hardly ever and the other never since his beloved wife, Carol, died. (I've been thinking a lot about that post of hers, it's worth reading again and again.) So, Tom knows firsthand all about Corey; my "real" life followers, not so much. And Corey may realize that I have a blog, but he's never read it that I know. Still, I don't write a lot about him because it's hard stuff. It's painful. There are no cute, tidy little endings. And it's embarrassing, frankly, the stuff we go through with Corey.
Before we moved, we were on a first name basis with a couple of compassionate police officers in town. One of them would actually volunteer to take a call when my son's name was mentioned. We haven't had that type of trouble since moving, but when we have trouble, we still have it with a capitol T. It has been just over a year since we had problems like this, and it has been a mostly decent year. Granted, my version of decent where Corey's involved would probably not quite be acceptable for a lot of parents. But from where we were, it's been mostly decent.
Although everything feels so sudden, now that I've had a day to reflect, I can see it's been coming for about a month, maybe six weeks. Last night's blow up left Madelyn and Maisy shaken (yeah, me, too), a planter in shambles and our outdoor Christmas lights pulled down.
My son no longer lives with me. Despite it all, my heart is broken. I cannot help it. Of course, it would be bad at any time, but it's Christmas. I walk by a table and see the Santa puzzle that I bought for Corey when he was four or five, and the Santa calendar that I bought because of him. We're supposed to get our tree this weekend and I wonder how I do that without him. What will it be like to put up the decorations without him?
I worry about whether the right decision has been made. Ultimately, Corey made the decision because he knows very well what the boundaries are. I am a spell it out kind of mom, especially with the big stuff. Tom has been supportive, but I know he has to hold back. Corey's not his kid. I would be very sensitive to him trying to push Corey out. Aside from occasionally agreeing that life was going to be a lot easier once Corey was an adult and moved out, he does not say or do anything to push. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I cannot say I'd be the same way. My mother has also been supportive. Okay, so she won't be winning any mother of the year awards her own self, but she has always viewed Corey as her way of making up for mistakes she made with my brother. If Mom ever felt I was expecting too much or not handling things the way I could, she has let me know. Mostly by relating a story of how she wished she'd done something different regarding my brother. But she's said several times that I'm doing the right thing. Mom and Tom are the only ones who know besides the collective "you." I worry about being surrounded by people who will wrongly try to support this if I've overreacted. What if I'm being unfair? Expecting too much? What if years of my sucky mothering has led to this?
*sigh* I know. Counseling. Clear expectations. Behavioral therapy; token reward system; exclusively positive reward system; be a freaking comedian at the end of a good day system. Special education services. Extremely focused special ed services. Independent study. Medication. Chiropractic care. Horse therapy (okay, that went horribly awry when the owner of "his" horse moved away suddenly without telling us). Going back to a comprehensive education program. What didn't we try? Biofeedback. Why not? By the time I knew enough about it, he'd been on medication too long for it to be effective.
So where is he now? Currently he is at my mothers. His stay there has to be very limited. I have given her information on Job Corps. and I know he called, but has to wait for someone to contact him. I don't know what will happen if he does not get in. He cannot come home right now. Staying out late or all night, giving me an attitude and being lazy with his chores is one frustrating thing. Scaring his little sister and destroying our property is another. Honestly, I could let the property thing go again if it weren't for Madelyn. I grew up in a home with violence and screaming. My kids shouldn't have to go through that. Heck, I shouldn't either, but it's different somehow when it's your kid instead of your parents.
I did speak with him today. I told him I love him. I am always his mother. If there is something he needs to get in to Job Corps., I will be there to provide it. Once there, he can come home for holidays and special occasions I am here if he wants to talk. I'm so far from being ready to cut him out completely. I just need to have a safe home. As ever, Corey is stunned by his own behavior. Sad. Apologetic. Probably devastated to know he upset Madelyn. Since she was born he has prided himself on being a very good big brother. It's one thing I can always say when people ask about him. He is an excellent big brother.
I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone.
I am worried. And sad. And angry. And so not a wonderful mother.
Most of my blog has a glaring void. You do not find much of my son on these pages. Part of that comes from the fact that toddlers and babies are just naturally easier to write about without worrying if they'd like it or not. Funny thing is, Tom is my only family member who knows about this blog. Of my almost tens of followers, I know two in real life but see one hardly ever and the other never since his beloved wife, Carol, died. (I've been thinking a lot about that post of hers, it's worth reading again and again.) So, Tom knows firsthand all about Corey; my "real" life followers, not so much. And Corey may realize that I have a blog, but he's never read it that I know. Still, I don't write a lot about him because it's hard stuff. It's painful. There are no cute, tidy little endings. And it's embarrassing, frankly, the stuff we go through with Corey.
Before we moved, we were on a first name basis with a couple of compassionate police officers in town. One of them would actually volunteer to take a call when my son's name was mentioned. We haven't had that type of trouble since moving, but when we have trouble, we still have it with a capitol T. It has been just over a year since we had problems like this, and it has been a mostly decent year. Granted, my version of decent where Corey's involved would probably not quite be acceptable for a lot of parents. But from where we were, it's been mostly decent.
Although everything feels so sudden, now that I've had a day to reflect, I can see it's been coming for about a month, maybe six weeks. Last night's blow up left Madelyn and Maisy shaken (yeah, me, too), a planter in shambles and our outdoor Christmas lights pulled down.
My son no longer lives with me. Despite it all, my heart is broken. I cannot help it. Of course, it would be bad at any time, but it's Christmas. I walk by a table and see the Santa puzzle that I bought for Corey when he was four or five, and the Santa calendar that I bought because of him. We're supposed to get our tree this weekend and I wonder how I do that without him. What will it be like to put up the decorations without him?
I worry about whether the right decision has been made. Ultimately, Corey made the decision because he knows very well what the boundaries are. I am a spell it out kind of mom, especially with the big stuff. Tom has been supportive, but I know he has to hold back. Corey's not his kid. I would be very sensitive to him trying to push Corey out. Aside from occasionally agreeing that life was going to be a lot easier once Corey was an adult and moved out, he does not say or do anything to push. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, I cannot say I'd be the same way. My mother has also been supportive. Okay, so she won't be winning any mother of the year awards her own self, but she has always viewed Corey as her way of making up for mistakes she made with my brother. If Mom ever felt I was expecting too much or not handling things the way I could, she has let me know. Mostly by relating a story of how she wished she'd done something different regarding my brother. But she's said several times that I'm doing the right thing. Mom and Tom are the only ones who know besides the collective "you." I worry about being surrounded by people who will wrongly try to support this if I've overreacted. What if I'm being unfair? Expecting too much? What if years of my sucky mothering has led to this?
*sigh* I know. Counseling. Clear expectations. Behavioral therapy; token reward system; exclusively positive reward system; be a freaking comedian at the end of a good day system. Special education services. Extremely focused special ed services. Independent study. Medication. Chiropractic care. Horse therapy (okay, that went horribly awry when the owner of "his" horse moved away suddenly without telling us). Going back to a comprehensive education program. What didn't we try? Biofeedback. Why not? By the time I knew enough about it, he'd been on medication too long for it to be effective.
So where is he now? Currently he is at my mothers. His stay there has to be very limited. I have given her information on Job Corps. and I know he called, but has to wait for someone to contact him. I don't know what will happen if he does not get in. He cannot come home right now. Staying out late or all night, giving me an attitude and being lazy with his chores is one frustrating thing. Scaring his little sister and destroying our property is another. Honestly, I could let the property thing go again if it weren't for Madelyn. I grew up in a home with violence and screaming. My kids shouldn't have to go through that. Heck, I shouldn't either, but it's different somehow when it's your kid instead of your parents.
I did speak with him today. I told him I love him. I am always his mother. If there is something he needs to get in to Job Corps., I will be there to provide it. Once there, he can come home for holidays and special occasions I am here if he wants to talk. I'm so far from being ready to cut him out completely. I just need to have a safe home. As ever, Corey is stunned by his own behavior. Sad. Apologetic. Probably devastated to know he upset Madelyn. Since she was born he has prided himself on being a very good big brother. It's one thing I can always say when people ask about him. He is an excellent big brother.
I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone.
I am worried. And sad. And angry. And so not a wonderful mother.
Friday, June 19, 2009
How Not To Have a Great Day
I got about three and a half hours of sleep last night. I probably only got that much because I went to bed early with a stomach ache. When Tom came to bed, I thought it was the crack of dawn and that he was getting up for work. I was wide awake. So I came down here to mess around for a little while. Four hours later I returned to bed in time for his alarm to go off. Three times. Worrying about missing my own alarm made it impossible to get back to sleep.
Corey, Mad and I managed to get out early enough for a stop at Starbucks before heading down the hill. And since there were no blinding blankets of fog in the pass, I even got to work about 35 minutes earlier than I'd anticipated.
The next three and a half hours were spent in a podcast training. By lunch some of the people had the software installed (step three out of about 117 on the agenda). As a rambling sort of speaker, I understand what was happening to the instructor, but great googly moogly! St. Fu, dude, St. Fu!
When I finally left the building to find lunch, I was on my own. I used some of that time to check in with Nance because Van Halen's "Jump" had just come on the radio. Ken loves Van Halen. He used to work with one of the brothers... a bazillion years or so ago.
Nancy has begun making a lot of the decisions that are going to come up over the next month or so. One of them being, "What songs do I put on the CD with the photos that will be shown at Ken's memorial once he passes?" My point had been that he should get some Van Halen, even if he's not going to "be there"... and yes, even if Nancy isn't the fan that Ken is. I tried to get her to put in "Hot for Teacher" since she does work in education. I was kidding. But what about Jump?! Isn't that sort of what he's doing here? Jumping from one plane to the next?
Why yes he is... and Nancy is having it as the last song.
In a heartbreaking way, my choosing this song for them is akin to the fact that Nancy chose the song that Tom and I danced to at our wedding: Celine Salon's "At Last." No joking when I say that Tom and I would have wagered any of our worldly possessions against the idea that Celine Dion would even get air time at our wedding, let alone be featured that way. We did searches for any version of At Last other than hers. Etta's? Too scratchy. Cyndi Lauper's? Guh! What the hell was that?!? Some no-name person I can't remember? Can't remember what was wrong with her version either... maybe that's the point. Nope, it had to be Celine. It has to be Van Halen.
***It occurs to me now that a post I thought I'd made earlier never really happened. So here's a brief update before I continue:
The other day Nancy called to tell me that Ken had taken a turn for the worse after our visit last Saturday night. I went to see him one afternoon this week. It worked out best for us all that I got there before Nancy and left when she arrived. Ken and I had deeper conversations than we ever have... probably than I've ever had with anybody, really. He was in so much pain and he let me call the nurse to get something for it (he was up in a chair and couldn't reach the button). A couple of times he mentioned how tired he was and that he just had to get stronger. I looked right at him, but he didn't make much eye contact during those moments. But boy did he get a little spark every time he said, "But I'm not quitting. I'm not giving up!" I told him I could see that in his eyes.
Ken said quietly that all the decisions had been made. My hearing's not excellent and despite the situation, it was out of context, so it took me a minute to grasp what he was saying. I just nodded. I told him that he has a lot of people who love him and who are praying for him. He nodded rather enthusiastically and said, "I know. It's a good thing too, it's the only hope I have right now."
It's times like these that I really wish I had a faith in something more than human abilities.
I really wanted to say so many things to Ken: Nancy will be okay no matter what happens. People around her will not let her hit the ground, we will lift her up no matter what happens. You will be okay, no matter what happens.
It does seem too much like telling someone that it's okay to die... when I don't have the right to give any sort of permission like that. But I wanted him to know... Nancy will be okay.
I didn't bring her up, but Ken did. He kept saying he doesn't want her to have to go through this.
"Yeah, well she feels the same way about you, ya know."
And then... somehow... I was able to say what seemed so important.
"You know, Ken, Nancy also has a lot of people who love her and who'll take care of her."
"I know. I know she does. Please keep an eye on her. I know you will. You do. You and a lot of people."
In the fog of the moment, I can't really remember if he asked me to promise or not. I just know that I did.
Somewhere in there, Nance called to say that she and Robin were almost there. They were taking my parking space because City of Hope is kind of a madhouse when it comes to parking.
So I gave Ken a couple of hugs and kisses through the mask I wore and promised, also, that I'd see him again.
It seems that I will have to be back out there very soon. Probably Monday.
When I spoke with Nance this afternoon she told me that she and their son, Kenny, met with the doctor. Her six year old granddaughter was in the car, so she had to be quite vague, but it seems that the main thing keeping Ken alive right now is the extreme frequency of blood and platelet transfusions. They aren't enough and he's losing the fight.
Kenny is getting married in August. Did I mention that already? He just got engaged a couple of weeks ago and asked Ken to be his best man. Ken won't be there. They're holding a commitment ceremony on Sunday in Ken's room. I guess the next day the doctor will talk with Ken about ending the transfusions.
How does a person... or a team of people in this case... decide which one will be the last? I can't express how relieved I am not to be part of that team. I do understand why it's the best thing for Ken... and probably Nancy... but I'm still... relieved.
One of the things I did after visiting Ken the other day was to contact someone from a local hospice agency that Nance and I work with through our program at work. I went there seeking guidance. How do you help the friend who knows she's too independent for her own good at times?
"What can I do for her? I can see that she's created a protective wall around herself and I don't want to be pushy, but I want her to know I'm her for anything she needs."
"The easiset and the hardest advice is to just be the best 'you' you can be."
"I can do that... my role with Nance has always been to make her laugh. It's not as easy as it once was, but sometimes I can pull it off without being too slapstick."
"Tell her she's doing a good job."
Today I got to tell her. It was all I could do to keep myself together and get the words out so she could hear them. I managed it. Barely. Long enough to get off the phone.
By then there were about 15 minutes before training resumed. I had a mini break-down on the balcony, pulled myself together as best I could and went back to the computer lab. A room full of people who know Nance and know what's going on. One woman saw my red nose and asked, "Shannon, have you heard anything more from Nancy?"
All I could do was put my hands up to stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Nothing was coming out of mine. I looked down and started to log in, but felt the tears coming hot and heavy, so I got up and left. And left my purse in there. I thought about texting one of my friends to bring it out, but of course my cell was in there, too. After nearly 20 minutes hiding in an alcove at the end of a hall, I made my way to my desk.
Since I did have other jobs I could do out of the office, I called one of the secretaries and asked her to go get it for me.
"I won't be disrupting them if I go in there right now?"
"Yes, a little, but not as much as I will if I go in there." Yeah, make it sound like I had a hissy fit or something. Way to go. "I'll explain when you get here."
Instead of the secretary, the woman who brought my purse was the one who had asked. We hugged and had a little talk before I sent her back in and headed off to finish up what has turned out to be pretty high on the list of saddest days ever.
Corey, Mad and I managed to get out early enough for a stop at Starbucks before heading down the hill. And since there were no blinding blankets of fog in the pass, I even got to work about 35 minutes earlier than I'd anticipated.
The next three and a half hours were spent in a podcast training. By lunch some of the people had the software installed (step three out of about 117 on the agenda). As a rambling sort of speaker, I understand what was happening to the instructor, but great googly moogly! St. Fu, dude, St. Fu!
When I finally left the building to find lunch, I was on my own. I used some of that time to check in with Nance because Van Halen's "Jump" had just come on the radio. Ken loves Van Halen. He used to work with one of the brothers... a bazillion years or so ago.
Nancy has begun making a lot of the decisions that are going to come up over the next month or so. One of them being, "What songs do I put on the CD with the photos that will be shown at Ken's memorial once he passes?" My point had been that he should get some Van Halen, even if he's not going to "be there"... and yes, even if Nancy isn't the fan that Ken is. I tried to get her to put in "Hot for Teacher" since she does work in education. I was kidding. But what about Jump?! Isn't that sort of what he's doing here? Jumping from one plane to the next?
Why yes he is... and Nancy is having it as the last song.
In a heartbreaking way, my choosing this song for them is akin to the fact that Nancy chose the song that Tom and I danced to at our wedding: Celine Salon's "At Last." No joking when I say that Tom and I would have wagered any of our worldly possessions against the idea that Celine Dion would even get air time at our wedding, let alone be featured that way. We did searches for any version of At Last other than hers. Etta's? Too scratchy. Cyndi Lauper's? Guh! What the hell was that?!? Some no-name person I can't remember? Can't remember what was wrong with her version either... maybe that's the point. Nope, it had to be Celine. It has to be Van Halen.
***It occurs to me now that a post I thought I'd made earlier never really happened. So here's a brief update before I continue:
The other day Nancy called to tell me that Ken had taken a turn for the worse after our visit last Saturday night. I went to see him one afternoon this week. It worked out best for us all that I got there before Nancy and left when she arrived. Ken and I had deeper conversations than we ever have... probably than I've ever had with anybody, really. He was in so much pain and he let me call the nurse to get something for it (he was up in a chair and couldn't reach the button). A couple of times he mentioned how tired he was and that he just had to get stronger. I looked right at him, but he didn't make much eye contact during those moments. But boy did he get a little spark every time he said, "But I'm not quitting. I'm not giving up!" I told him I could see that in his eyes.
Ken said quietly that all the decisions had been made. My hearing's not excellent and despite the situation, it was out of context, so it took me a minute to grasp what he was saying. I just nodded. I told him that he has a lot of people who love him and who are praying for him. He nodded rather enthusiastically and said, "I know. It's a good thing too, it's the only hope I have right now."
It's times like these that I really wish I had a faith in something more than human abilities.
I really wanted to say so many things to Ken: Nancy will be okay no matter what happens. People around her will not let her hit the ground, we will lift her up no matter what happens. You will be okay, no matter what happens.
It does seem too much like telling someone that it's okay to die... when I don't have the right to give any sort of permission like that. But I wanted him to know... Nancy will be okay.
I didn't bring her up, but Ken did. He kept saying he doesn't want her to have to go through this.
"Yeah, well she feels the same way about you, ya know."
And then... somehow... I was able to say what seemed so important.
"You know, Ken, Nancy also has a lot of people who love her and who'll take care of her."
"I know. I know she does. Please keep an eye on her. I know you will. You do. You and a lot of people."
In the fog of the moment, I can't really remember if he asked me to promise or not. I just know that I did.
Somewhere in there, Nance called to say that she and Robin were almost there. They were taking my parking space because City of Hope is kind of a madhouse when it comes to parking.
So I gave Ken a couple of hugs and kisses through the mask I wore and promised, also, that I'd see him again.
It seems that I will have to be back out there very soon. Probably Monday.
When I spoke with Nance this afternoon she told me that she and their son, Kenny, met with the doctor. Her six year old granddaughter was in the car, so she had to be quite vague, but it seems that the main thing keeping Ken alive right now is the extreme frequency of blood and platelet transfusions. They aren't enough and he's losing the fight.
Kenny is getting married in August. Did I mention that already? He just got engaged a couple of weeks ago and asked Ken to be his best man. Ken won't be there. They're holding a commitment ceremony on Sunday in Ken's room. I guess the next day the doctor will talk with Ken about ending the transfusions.
How does a person... or a team of people in this case... decide which one will be the last? I can't express how relieved I am not to be part of that team. I do understand why it's the best thing for Ken... and probably Nancy... but I'm still... relieved.
One of the things I did after visiting Ken the other day was to contact someone from a local hospice agency that Nance and I work with through our program at work. I went there seeking guidance. How do you help the friend who knows she's too independent for her own good at times?
"What can I do for her? I can see that she's created a protective wall around herself and I don't want to be pushy, but I want her to know I'm her for anything she needs."
"The easiset and the hardest advice is to just be the best 'you' you can be."
"I can do that... my role with Nance has always been to make her laugh. It's not as easy as it once was, but sometimes I can pull it off without being too slapstick."
"Tell her she's doing a good job."
Today I got to tell her. It was all I could do to keep myself together and get the words out so she could hear them. I managed it. Barely. Long enough to get off the phone.
By then there were about 15 minutes before training resumed. I had a mini break-down on the balcony, pulled myself together as best I could and went back to the computer lab. A room full of people who know Nance and know what's going on. One woman saw my red nose and asked, "Shannon, have you heard anything more from Nancy?"
All I could do was put my hands up to stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Nothing was coming out of mine. I looked down and started to log in, but felt the tears coming hot and heavy, so I got up and left. And left my purse in there. I thought about texting one of my friends to bring it out, but of course my cell was in there, too. After nearly 20 minutes hiding in an alcove at the end of a hall, I made my way to my desk.
Since I did have other jobs I could do out of the office, I called one of the secretaries and asked her to go get it for me.
"I won't be disrupting them if I go in there right now?"
"Yes, a little, but not as much as I will if I go in there." Yeah, make it sound like I had a hissy fit or something. Way to go. "I'll explain when you get here."
Instead of the secretary, the woman who brought my purse was the one who had asked. We hugged and had a little talk before I sent her back in and headed off to finish up what has turned out to be pretty high on the list of saddest days ever.
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